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uraveragelonelyhuman · 2 years

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Reuniting With Ekko, Vi And Viktor

EKKO

You had been a kid taken in by Vander

And he was friends with a man named Benzo, who had also taken a kid under his wing

So, you had always been close to Ekko and Powder most out of all the kids

Being closer to their age and all

You all were together everyday, never leaving each other's side

You and Ekko were hanging out one day when you saw a strange man come into the shop

You both could tell he wasn't from the Undercity

And he paid Ekko in gold, Ekko charged him double price with your convincing

And after you both followed him to his pretty apartment in Piltover

And you could tell he was rich, or had rich connections

So when you guys came back you told Vi, she was proud as hell of you both

And her, Powder, Claggor and Mylo left to rob the apartment

That was the start of it all

Vander was taken, Benzo was killed and in the middle of the night after staying with Ekko to help him, you felt the ground shake

You panicked, telling Ekko to stay there in the shop as you ran like hell

When you got there Vi was leaning against a wall as she sobbed

You kneeled down beside her to check on her, worried as she looked at you shocked

Then you both looked up, seeing the man recognized as Silco standing above your best friend on the ground

You both bolted, standing up to go get her before you were hit on the head

You fell to the ground, your conscious abandoning you

When you woke up, you were in a stone cell with Vi shaking you

You both were in prison, you thought they couldn't keep you there without trial o question

But you were wrong

Simply because you were from the Undercity, they kept you both there

For seven years

Vi kept you safe, you were all she had

But you both wanted out

And one day you got it

When a certain someone came around with a drawing of a monkey

You finally came back to the Undercity, looking for Powder and Ekko

And you found Powder, just not in the way you thought

And then you were ambushed by people in masks

One you swore you saw before, lingering in the shadows

And then you woke up in a random room

The one in the mask leaning against a wall

You opened your eyes, your head hurt like hell from being knocked out. You groaned as you sat up, rubbing your head as you looked around. You looked in the corner, a ray of light seeping in until you saw something.

Leaning against a wall, in the shadows a man with a white owl mask leaned against a wall. You glared, standing up as you clenched your fists.

"Who the hell are you?" You asked, your guard fully up as he slowly stepped out of the shadows.

"Why the hell am I here? Why won't you fucking answer?!" You yelled, impatient as he just kept staring at you.

You then intently watched as he reached up to his mask, your eyes widening as you saw he was taking it off.

His head faced to the ground, his mask hissing as he dropped it to his side. He then stepped into the light, looking up as your eyes found familiarity in his face.

"...Ekko?" You breathed out, shocked as you stepped forward once. You then stopped as he looked at you with a blank stare. "Where the hell have you been?" He asked.

"What? Where am I? What the hell is all this?" You asked, panicking as you looked around. You didn't like not knowing stuff, feeling paranoid of what was to come.

"What do you know about this?" He asked, opening a case to a blue stone. "Nothing! Powder had it, I don't know why but- shit, oh my god." You said, pacing back and forth as you tried to calm down.

"Where have you been? Where have you and Vi been? And why the hell were you with Jinx and-" Everything felt like it was spinning, Ekko's questions coming in fast and you couldn't keep up.

You felt tears pooling in your eyes, your hands meeting your head as you tried to get the feeling of nausea to pass.

You wanted to know where you were, what happened while you were gone and what the hell happened to Powder.

"Ekko! Jus-Just shut the hell up!" You cut him off, yelling as he paused and looked at you worried.

You looked tired, your entire body shaking as you tried to make sense of what was happening. Everything was so fast and you couldn't keep up.

"What the hell is going on?! What happened?! Me and Vi, w-we were thrown in Still- Prison and-" Ekko's eyes widened at your confession, Prison? What the hell did you mean Prison?

"Prison?! What the hell do you mean by Prison, Y/n?" He asked, you looking at him. "Yeah, we were thrown in Stillwater. No trial, nothing for seven fucking years!" You yelled, closing your eyes as you backed up into a pole.

You breathed heavily as you tried to ground yourself.

"What happened while we were gone?! Powder- or Jinx, or whoever the fuck! What happened to her?! What happened to my best friend…" you trailed off, beginning to sob as everything sunk in.

Through the years you never actually had time to sit and think so it was all coming in like waves.

Vander had died, Benzo died, Claggor and Mylo died. You and I were thrown in jail without question.

When you got out Powder was someone else, Silco flooded the lanes and took your guys' home. And Ekko was fucking yelling at you.

You hated being yelled at, it was something your birth parents did before leaving you to rot and it stuck with you.

Ekko looked at you sadly, his eyes filled with sympathy and guilt as he remembered you hated being yelled at. He slowly steps toward you, grabbing your hand and softly pulling you close to him.

"It's okay, everything's fine, I'm here…" he quietly stated, you holding onto him for dear life as your breathing calmed down.

"What happened while we were gone…?" You quietly asked, looking up at Ekko. He sighed, shaking his head. "A lot, Y/n. A lot." He stated.

You examined his face, lifting your palm to his right cheek as you sniffled. "Aw, Little man isn't little anymore." You laughed softly, Ekko rolling his eyes at you amusedly.

You slowly pulled back into the hig, your ear rested against his chest where his heart was.

You found Ekko, and for now you would live in the moment. At least for a bit, because at least he was okay.

You had been taken in by Benzo when young

And met Vi a couple days after

You two were stuck together by the hip

You were close in age and liked being together

You were the calm one while she was the harsh one

Still, match made in heaven

She liked being with you because you were calming

You liked being with her because she was her

And everything was great

Until the apartment heist

Everything went wrong after that

Benzo died

And so did Vander, Mylo and Claggor

What didn't help was Vi had went missing and Powder became Jinx

She never messed with you, visiting you when she could

But she didn't like being reminded of Powder

She clung to you still because you were all she had left, and you were like her other big sister growing up

You came to terms Vi was dead, you had to survive though

So Babbette offered you a job, at the Brothel

Wasn't your ideal job but you took it

Everything was a bit peaceful in your life for a while

Until the past came knocking

You cleaned up your room in the brothel, your last client had come in and left after about 30 minutes and you were done for the day.

You were tired as hell and just wanted to get to Jericho's, eat and come back and sleep until forever. You had changed into something a bit more comfortable, grabbing your keys and about to head out until you heard the door open.

It then clicked closed just as you reached for your keys. You sighed, talking over your shoulder. "Wrong room. I'm done for the day, sorry." You said, walking forward as your hand grasped your keychain.

"Aw, too bad. You sure you don't have time for me, sweetheart?" That voice…you heard it before. You froze, you felt like you couldn't move at all. You recognized it but you didn't want to accept it.

Over the years your mind played tricks on you, a glimpse in your peripheral had you thinking Vi was around the corner. A whisper in your ear made you flinch thinking it was her only to come back to earth a second later.

You shook your head, not looking behind you. "Enough with the games, brain. She's not here…" you mumbled to yourself, resuming what you had been doing.

"But it's not a game. It's me, Y/n." She said again, this time you felt like crying as you realized she didn't go away. She would've left by now if it was a game.

You slowly turned around, your eyes finding the woman now grown up standing in front of you. She stared back at you with a small smile, her eyes looked you up and down.

"...Vi?" You whispered, afraid to talk as if she would disappear. She nodded her head, stepping closer to you. You gave a small sniffle, as she got closer you lunged at her.

You knocked her back a fre steps before she stabled herself. She gave a small chuckle mixed with a sniffle. She hugged you back, missing your touch over the years.

"You're okay.. How in hell are you alive?" You asked, your head not leaving her chest. "Believe me, I don't even know." She mumbled, resting her chin on top of your head as she closed her eyes.

She felt a little peace in that moment, holding you. Maybe the seven years of hoping and praying paid off, because you were actually here.

Alive. And with her now.

And god, she was never letting you go, ever again.

VIKTOR

Your dad was Singed, and you met him when his boat flowed through the cavern

That's when you first saw him, you sat next to Rio as it knocked against your foot

He then stepped into your vision

He was hesitant until your dad beckoned him towards you guys as he held his toy boat in his hand

You then noticed his cane, tilting your head at it but shaking it off

Wasn't anything new, and was best not to ask

He was a loner, not being able to play with the other kids

You didn't like playing with them, thought they were idiots who were even ruder than their parents

You preferred staying with your dad and helping Rio

And eventually you three became loners together

You and Viktor grew up close together

You were stuck to the other like glue

You also both helped your dad with his gadgetry and projects

Everything was good, until Rio god worse

You begged your dad to let her go, but he always said the same thing

"The mutation must survive"

But Viktor didn't like it

And he left

You never saw him again for a long time

Viktor sat in his lab, Jayce gone for the day for whatever he did. He was messing with Hex tech, trying to improve it as he heard the lab door open.

"Sorry, Jayce is not here. And I am quite busy." He called over his shoulder, not looking back as he went back to his gadget.

He heard a sigh from behind him. 'Must be Sky.' He thought, not paying anymore mind until a voice broke the silence.

"Aw, not even enough time for little 'ol me?" He paused, it couldn't be. He hadn't seen you for years. And in Piltover? His lab nonetheless?

He turned around, shocked as he saw your smirking face standing at the middle counter of the lab.

"Y/n!" He exclaimed, smiling as he stood up and grabbed his cane. You laughed, walking towards him and meeting him halfway. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

"I haven't seen you in years." He smiled, you pulling away as you laughed. "Yeah, about time, huh?" He nodded his head. "Yes, how did you know I was here?" He asked.

"I got in contact with your lab partner, Jayce. He was excited to help." You explained, nudging his cheek as he shook his head. "Remind me to thank him, for once." He joked.

"Wow, Piltover really has a hold on you. You have humour now?" You teased, the man rolling his eyes at you amusedly as he pulled away.

"Come, I should show you my creation." He walked over to his desk, you following him

You always wondered what his life was in Piltover, now you could be a part of it.

#vi arcane x reader #arcane x you #ekko arcane x reader #arcane ekko x you #arcane ekko #arcane ekko x reader #arcane viktor x reader #arcane vi x reader #arcane violet #arcane viktor #viktor x reader #ekko x reader #vi x reader #arcane viktor x you #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane x you #arcane reader #arcane reader insert

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nyrasbloodyclover · 8 months

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ghost stories (tate langdon x reader)

a/n: FIRST OCTOBER FIC LET'S GOOO

It was the beginning of October when my family decided to move into our new house. I was already in love with it, even though my mom said it made her feel depressed by just looking at it.

It was much bigger than our previous home, so the exploring part made me excited. We dropped our bags and I immediately went to see each room.

It was getting pretty dark but I didn't bother turning on the lights. The air smelled of rain as I entered one of the rooms. It looked like it belonged to a boy, probably around my age. There were a lot of records of many different artists, some books and even an empty hamster cage.

"What are you doing in my room?" I turned and almost screamed when a boy appeared behind me. He looked young, with blond curls and pretty brown eyes.

"What are you talking about?" I finally asked when I gathered myself.

"This is my room." He was still not answering my question.

"We just moved in, and I don't know what are you talking about or how you even managed to get in without us noticing but if you plan on staying, I suggest you explain that to me."

And he did explain. But how was I supposed to believe him that he was a ghost who died in this house and is trapped in here forever?

"Prove it." I crossed my arms.

"Fine," he almost rolled his eyes. Then he disappeared. Like literally. From thin air.

"What the fu—" But then he appeared. I shook my head in disbelief and started to laugh. "Oh my god, that's so fucking cool."

"You think so? I'm Tate, by the way." He looked genuinely happy to introduce himself to me.

And so I became friends with one of the ghosts that lived in our house. We talked most of the time, he made fun of my music taste and made me listen to Nirvana (which I surprisingly liked). I read to him sometimes and he listened. He was an amazing listener.

But my parents didn't know about him and I meant to keep it that way.

He was okay with that and it was pretty easy to hide him. I mean whenever we were in my room and someone tried to come in, Tate just had to disappear.

The more we hung out, the closer we became. Sitting beside each other on my bed turned into him laying between my legs while I did my homework and he listened to his music. But we never tried to point that out. At least I haven't.

I pretended not to notice him drawing circles on my skin or playing with my hair, his hands wandering carefully, trying not to be too obvious. That made me feel...something. Something towards him. I hated it because we had such great friendship and admitting my feelings would just ruin it.

Until one night I was pissed about my school and I was just rambling to him, saying the worst stuff I could about everything and I had a feeling that he was trying not to laugh at me, but I didn't care.

He called me to join him on my bed and take a break from studying because it was getting late. For the first time, I listened to him.

And at some point, both of us fell asleep. I was exhausted and my body was screaming thank you when I finally closed my eyes.

But in the middle of the night, I woke up in panic because I never planned to fall asleep. I didn't even finish all my work!

In all my distress, I woke up Tate and he looked at me with his adorable sleepy eyes while I ran around the room and gathered all my books. He realized what I was doing and immediately stood up with intention to drag me back to bed.

"No, Tate, I have to finish this!"

"Relax. You need sleep. It's three in the morning."

"Yes, but how will I sleep when I know I left half of my assignments unfinished?"

He smiled innocently at me while I looked at him, not understanding his sudden mood change.

"I can help you fall asleep. If you want to." I looked at him, then at my books.

I was still confused. "I do, but...You have sleeping pills or something?"

At that he grinned at the floor and my chest fluttered.

"Let's just get to bed. I'll show you, but you have to relax." I couldn't hear a thing in that moment, not even the rain, not the pounding in my chest. I wasn't oblivious anymore. I knew what he meant and I still let him do whatever he pleased.

In seconds I was on bed with Tate slowly climbing on top of me. My face was burning and I couldn't see straight, but I didn't move.

He slowly put his hand on my pants, tucking his fingers beneath the waistband. "May I?"

I just nodded, not being able to form a proper sentence, but it was enough for him to take both, my pants and my underwear down.

His dark eyes were literally glowing while his mouth watered at the sight of me. Tate spread my legs and lowered himself enough to reach my aching cunt.

He looked up, smiling innocently before he went to work. His tongue licked me, up and down and I immediately grabbed his blond locks for support. He repeated the movement and it made me want to let out ungodly sounds, but I remembered we weren't alone and my parents were probably sleeping. If they found us like this, with Tate's head between my legs and my fingers in his hair...I would be joining Tate at being dead.

He put one finger in while his tongue circled my swollen clit and I accidentally pulled his hair. He let out a soft groan and I almost smirked for myself. I did it again and Tate groaned into me.

He didn't plan on stopping, apparently. Tate wanted me to see stars. I just wasn't sure how was this going to help with my sleep. I felt like I wasn't going to be able to close an eye for the rest of the night.

Tate decided to add another finger and I almost lost it there, but I couldn't let myself ruin this perfect moment. Not yet.

"If I add one more will you stop being to stubborn?"

"Let's find out." And he wasn't kidding. He stretched me put enough to put his third finger in and I moaned into my hand, not being able to control myself anymore.

He continued working with his tongue and it didn't take me long after that to lift my hips as I came on his mouth. He pressed his hand over my stomach to pin me back on bed as I clenched around his fingers.

He got up, licking his fingers and cleaning up his swollen mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. He took it off and did the same with my mess.

My legs were weak, I could barely change, but he helped me and got under the covers.

I joined him and realized that I haven't once thought about my assignments.

"Tate?"

"Yes?"

"Are we still friends?"

"Of course. Especially when you're in the need of sleeping pills."

I fell asleep with the weight of his hand on me while rain pounded on my window.

#evan peters #american horror story #ahs #evan peters fanfic #tate langdon fic #tate ahs #tate #tate langdon x reader #tate langdon #american horror murder house #american horror story apocalypse #american horror story fanfic

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fourlittleocto · 7 months

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i'm really bad at headcanons in general so i'm sorry if these are not good, but thank you for the ask! also with midterms i've been super busy so i hope everyone can keep being patient with me, i promise i am working on asks it just might be another week <3

starting with some cute ones (thank you @pyrefection)

dew loves to rub soft stuff on his face. if the closest soft thing happens to be a person, so be it. he doesn't want them to touch him, just let him hold their hand and rub it over his face. this always somehow turns into their fingers in his mouth, since they're softer and nicer than his

with that thought, even though he doesn't need to teethe he still wants to stick everything in his mouth, just to see what it's like. some sort of instinct. however his fear of getting in trouble trumps this need, which means he'll spend way longer than most cgs have patience for crawling over to objects that look good, holding them up, and then pouting when he's told no, he can't put that in his mouth until it either has to be pried out of his weirdly strong grip or mountain (because let's be honest he thinks this is adorable and is the only one who actually tolerates it) gives in and let's him put it in his mouth "but just once dewbug!" it's better that he's doing this when someone's watching anyway, and then he'll never need to try again

dew loves to draw and hates coloring. he doesn't like that he can't control his hands enough to keep it in the lines, especially since little rain is a little ocd and always gives him judgemental stares when they color together. he loves to draw though, and even though they're usually just colorful squiggles aurora (his new favorite caregiver) has taught him how to draw some shapes and to associate certain colors with certain emotions, so he feels like he can communicate when he's drawing and it's really relaxing to his troubled brain

i also love moonbeam's hc that tiny dew loves to clap. it's a movement that's easy, and it's small and loud just like he is, and he knows how to clap sarcastically to get a laugh. whenever anyone in the pack does something stupid he claps and giggles, and it sends aurora into a laughing fit every time.

i put some stuff about dew's childhood/regression under the cut cause it's a little heavy/sad so feel free to skip it

just as background, i think dew goes really small, like usually he can't walk or talk but sometimes he can get as big as 3, where he's toddling, but even then he can't talk cause as a child his parents refused to talk to him so he didn't learn to until he was interacting with other kits. It's part of why now he's really slow at reading and gets frustrated when he has to describe something cause words just don't come easily to him. it's also the reason that when he's tiny he likes to hide, he doesn't want anyone to see him so vulnerable so they can't use it against him. (however, this has made him incredible at hide and seek. one of the older littles or aurora will hold him and follow where he points and they always win)

he also can't drop on purpose, it's entirely trauma/stimuli-based. i definitely think it's something that started for him after the elemental change, but no one except mountain knew about it until aurora was summoned. She mothered him about his attitude while he was big enough times that one night, while in the middle of a bad flashback, he babbled something just coherent enough for mountain to know he was asking for her, so now they trade off taking care of him and know who he needs based on what happened/what kind of mood he's in (it's always bad, but sometimes it's MUCH WORSE than others, and aurora has to take him when he's specifically having elemental change flashbacks cause mountain still has too much attachment to the events and they trigger flashbacks for him too)

either way, since aurora has joined the pack she's helped dew not feel so scared about being small, to the point where even if he can't be with a group of adults, he's able to sit with her and watch little rain and phantom and cumulus play. she's also slowly teaching him to do things that 1 to 2-year-olds are supposed to be able to do, and it's helped him feel like he has a lot of control over it even if he still can't control the action of his mind dropping.

#regressed ghouls #octo sfw #dewdrop ghoul #little dew #ghost headcanons

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meanbossart · 3 months

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Another ask compilation!

There already is some! If you search up "orin the red" in my blog there's some art to be found of them together (after you scroll by all the essay length replies to asks I've gotten about her 🤦) and I definitely want to draw more of it in the future.

(This ask is referring to mine and @barbatusart comics, not my silly BG3 stuff, just in case anyone gets confused) ALAS, Sad Sack and Sortie seem to be what me and Nick have taken to calling part of the Unpublishable Triad: It's Gay, It's Violent, and it's too long. The point is that publishers don't want anything to do with it. We've actually gotten really close once, signed a contract and everything, but then the place gained some traction and decided they didn't want us in their repertoire anymore.

We've considered self-publishing again and again, but unfortunately we don't really have the financial means for something like that. We hope as we expand and entertain slightly less erm outrageous stories that we will come across some new opportunities.

(more asks below the cut)

AGREED, I don't think there's much of a way for me to both keep him in character AND keep her alive (since she has such a problem with Shadowheart) but if Shadowheart hadn't been mega racist I bet Lae'zel and DU drow would have had a lot of funny conflict (he would have relentlessly looked down on her blind faith) broken up with their mutual love for senseless violence. Probably at least 1 rage fuck in there before Astarion came peacocking in.

Thank you!

Not really, I don't really like dividing my attention with other things when I draw, not to mention that I do a lot of picking things up and putting them down again which doesn't seem very apt for art-streaming.

THANK YOU SO MUCH DUDE! I Nick is the sole writer behind the original series and of 95% of Sortie (I butt in there here and there because I'm also a huge Sal fan lol) so all the dope semiotics and symbolism are thanks to him and his big, beautiful brain. I'm beyond lucky to have found someone so talented to work with.

Thank you so much again for your patronage and support, I'm glad you have been enjoying the rest of our work!!!

THANK YOU!!! I draw a lot of inspiration from western comics, and I'm a big fan of the art of Sean Murphy and Jason Shawn Alexander. I was also reading JtHM and Hellsing in middle school which I'm sure caused some kind of irreversible damage to my psyche.

LOL, IT'S AN HONOR TO BE THE FREAK OF THE FANDOM, and it's a joy to hear that I've given you and your friends some good laughs. Thank you!

---

I have a ton of other sweet messages that I can't reply to individually without risking turning this into a LOOK-AT-ME fest, but as always thank you so much to everyone who decides to drop by with a nice word of encouragement, support, or just to let me know that they enjoy my characterizations, I very much appreciate it!

#ask #ask compilation

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purplecatghostposts · 1 year

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THE MOST BLOOD CURDLING SCREAMING CRYING BRIAN ANGST??? PLEASE???

Hehe I gottchu

Wanna Roleswap Brian? I’m giving you Roleswap Brian. You’ll figure out what role he’s taking within :)

Tags: Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Ambiguous Ending, Role Swap/Role Reversal, Canon Typical Operator Sickness Symptoms, Canon Typical Behavior, Guns, Blood Mention, Very brief Alcohol and Drugs Mention, It’s Not Paranoia If They’re Really Out To Get You, Mention of Strangulation (But doesn't actually happen), Intrusive Thoughts

Word Count: 2k Words. (I got carried away)

— —

Believe it or not, Brian is not immune to stage fright. He doesn't get it as bad as some people but it still shook him some days, making him jittery and tongue tied.

Working with friends made it easier but Brian still had to take a few breaks to pull himself back together at times. But fortunately he always knew what to do. Memorized it at this point.

Take a deep breath. Focus on what you are doing and let everything else drain away. Steel your resolve and do what you got to do to get it out of the way as soon as possible.

The faster he got his lines done, the sooner he was in the clear. It was as simple as that.

It’s been a little rougher as of late however. Brian struggles to articulate it to anyone but a feeling persists in the back of his head. Eyes on him, even if no one else is there. Nerves acting up for no reason. Anxiety in its purest of forms. He doesn’t understand it.

Take a deep breath, Brian reminds himself. Focus on what you are doing and let everything else drain away. The faster you get it done, the faster it’s over.

It helps a little, but not enough. Brian isn’t usually the one to jump at shadows but it feels like something else is there now. Something in the trees that he can’t quite place.

It’s probably nothing.

—

The feeling follows him home.

Brian triple checks the locks on his doors and windows but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. He lugs his mattress into the closet to sleep there. It just to feel a little safer to sleeping in a room without windows. It helps but never enough. He’s still exhausted— no amount of sleep seems to take the edge off.

His psychology grades are dropping. All the terminology blends together and Brian stares at his notes after class with a sinking feeling. It’s barely comprehensible— there’s just shaky drawings of trees and some sort of repeated symbol made over and over. An O with an X through it.

He doesn’t remember making it.

Brian stuffs the paper deep into his bag and tries not to think about it. He smiles as best as he can when he meets up with Tim for lunch and waves off the concern he gets. Tells Tim he just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. He’s not lying about that.

—

The sun has vanished from the sky, it’s dark and cold and Brian’s phone is dying, and he doesn’t know where he is or how he ended up in the middle of the woods.

He remembers driving home after a shoot. He remembers seeing a tall, lone figure underneath a flickering street light.

He remembers nothing else.

Something tickles in the back of his throat when he swallows. A cough rises, doesn’t stop, and Brian ends up bent over and hacking up a wad of blood, spitting it into the dirt. In the silence of the night, he can only hear his own heavy breathing and distant crickets.

Brian thinks something is wrong with him. The fact that he doesn’t know what shakes him but he fumbles for his phone and manages to call Sarah to pick him up.

She’s always been a light sleeper. She picks up on the second ring and Brian navigates his way through the woods as he asks her if he can get a ride. She tells him she’ll be there as soon as she can, she just needs to know where he is.

Brian stumbles out onto a street and rattles off its name. Sarah hangs up and Brian waits fifteen minutes under a lone streetlight before she finally pulls up. Her face is tight with concern, eyeing him as he buckles up.

“Are you drunk?” She asks. “High?”

“I wish.” Brian slumps in the seat and only just meets her gaze. “I’m… Fucking exhausted honestly. Can we talk about this later?”

Sarah pursues her lips but nods and shifts the car back into gear. The trip to his apartment is silent and after a declined offer to walk him inside, Sarah tells him to rest up and skip classes if he needs to. Brian just smiles and thanks her again.

He passes out the second his head hits his pillow. When he wakes up, he’s missed his first two classes and feels like death itself.

—

Brian goes to the doctor. They prescribe him some sleeping pills.

After waking up with increasingly bad headaches, injuries he doesn’t remember getting, and ending up in more and more concerning places that he definitely didn’t fall asleep in, he calls his doctor to confirm the fact that yes, he should stop taking them.

(They ask him if he wants to try anything else to see what works for him. Brian tells them he’ll think about it, with the intention of really considering it, but it slips away in the long run.)

—

Alex is yelling about nothing, ticked off by every little thing that doesn’t go his way, and Brian considers punching him. He considers it long enough to where he thinks he might actually do it.

He doesn’t understand why Alex is acting this way. It’s like he’s not even Alex anymore— he’s just twitchy and angry and Brian thinks it’s rubbing off on him because sometimes he thinks about wrapping his hands around his neck when he’s yelling and squeezing until he’s blissfully silent. Then he hates himself for it more than he hates Alex’s yelling and it just makes it all worse.

Everything is bad these days. Tim is coughing up a storm, Seth jumps at every shadow that moves, Jay has this dead stare at times like he’s not really there, Sarah looks like she could fall asleep at every moment, and Alex is being an asshole.

Everything is bad and Brian doesn’t understand why until one day, he’s over at Seth’s place to get out of his apartment and not think about the feeling of someone or something else being there with him. Seth focuses on editing Marble Hornets but at some point, both of them lose time because abruptly it’s night and Seth passes out at his desk. Brian sighs and walks over to wake him so he can get up and go sleep in a real bed when he sees what’s on his computer. He freezes.

It’s footage he took with Alex earlier. A scene in the car— Brian can’t remember what it was about, unable to take his eyes off a figure in the background. A figure he recognizes.

A figure that’s been following him around for weeks now but that he was so sure was just a trick of the light. A shadow he mistook for a person. A million different excuses to avoid the truth.

But it’s there. On camera. And suddenly Brian is confronted with the idea that the thing following him around is a lot more real than he previously thought and that—

That’s.

Brian takes a deep breath. He minimizes the editing program so he doesn’t have to look at it anymore but then a file on Seth’s computer catches his eye. It stands out among the rest, its name in all caps.

‘OPERATOR’.

Somehow Brian knows what’s going to be on it before he clicks on it. He does anyways, despite the feeling of dread in his chest, and stares at a file full of still images and clips. All of them with the very same monster that’s been haunting him.

The same monster that’s haunting Seth. Seth, who jumps at shadows and clutches Alex’s camera like a lifeline sometimes. Seth, who edits all of Alex’s footage alone and without complaint or without asking for help, taking any tape Alex hands over without question.

Seth, who barely acknowledged he was there while he was editing. Not even a hum when Brian attempted to ask him about what he was doing or how his classes were going.

The pieces of the puzzle begin to fit together. Brian doesn’t like the picture it makes.

—

Brian can’t hear it move but he knows it’s there. He presses his back against the closet wall and tries to breathe quietly but there’s static in his head and he’s terrified and trapped and can’t fall asleep.

There’s a monster in his apartment. It won’t kill him, Brian knows that deep down, but what it will do is so much worse.

He can feel it. The way it changes him, the way all his bouts of anger are accompanied by a faint feeling of static in the back of his head, the way he can’t sleep because every night his home is invaded and if he falls asleep then he’ll wake up somewhere else and covered in his own blood and he fears that one day, he might wake up in someone else’s.

It’s changing him. Affecting him. He doesn’t know what it wants, only that it will ruin his life to get it, and now Brian knows that he’s not the only one. It’s after his friends too. It wants…

It wants to feed on all of them.

He doesn’t know what it eats but he knows it’s something it gets from them. Their pain? Their fear? Their suffering? He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know anything at all except that it has to stop.

—

Brian buys a gun. He doesn’t think it’ll do anything against that thing but he needs something or he’ll lose his mind.

The gun feels heavy and wrong in his hands. Brian carries it anyways.

—

Everything gets worse. Brian doesn’t think he can stand much more of the anger that comes out of each shoot, like everyone just wants to bite each other’s heads off.

Then Alex takes him to a solo shoot at an old abandoned hospital. He’s unsympathetic when Brian voices how he doesn’t want to be there and Brian feels a familiar anger rise up that he bites back down. The trees have eyes. He ignores them the best he can, but largely fails.

Alex hands Brian the currently recording camera to hold while he sets up the stand for it. He struggles with it, multiple curses and frustrated noises leaving him, and Brian stares at him and wonders when the last time he saw Alex happy was. He can’t remember. He can’t even remember what his smile looks like anymore.

His pocket of his fading yellow hoodie feels heavier than it should be. Brian reaches into it and is immediately met with the cold metal of his gun.

He doesn’t remember bringing it. It never should’ve left his house.

But as he stares at Alex, hearing him dissolve into a coughing fit, hands shaking badly as he tries to power through it and set up the camera properly, it dawns on him. That this thing— this Operator, as Seth had called it— makes people miserable. That Alex— snappish and impatient and twitchy— is miserable. This project should be bringing him joy but there are bags under his eyes and Brian thinks about how all of them stopped asking about his own insomnia when they started developing it themselves.

It’s changing them. Maybe it feeds off of that— misery.

And maybe Brian can stop that. Right here, right now.

Alex’s back is to him. He’s not even paying the slightest bit of attention.

Brian slowly draws the gun. It feels wrong and weighted and his insides twist but Brian takes a deep breath. The faster he gets it over with, the faster he gets it done.

He’s not doing this to hurt Alex. He’ll take no pleasure from it and it’ll be quick. Either he does this now or that thing drains Alex until he’s a shell of who he used to be. Until it kills him.

His aim levels as he focuses on this moment and only this moment. Everything else drains away.

His finger tightens on the trigger.

— —

I think role swaps are interesting as hell and had to pull one where Brian takes Alex’s place. Brian is deep in the Operator’s influence at this point without realizing it and what happens to Alex, and what happens afterwards, is up to you.

Hope this was some good Brian Angst! Thank you for the request, feel free to send another! :)

#marble hornets #Ask #Request #Requests are still open! I only got one other one that I'm working on rn #They pretty much stay open unless I say otherwise #Brian Thomas #mh au #SB Speaks #SB Writes #gun #blood #Read the tags PLEASE #shit goes down

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the-dumpster-fire-of-life · 2 years

Note

aah my bad! 3 with Vi, Ekko, and Viktor perhaps? ^^ thank you!

Heyo! Sorry this took some time I was feeling a bit lazy, lmao. Anyways, here ya go, enjoy!!

REUNITING WITH VI, EKKO AND VIKTOR

EKKO

You had been a kid taken in by Vander

And he was friends with a man named Benzo, who had also taken a kid under his wing

So, you had always been close to Ekko and Powder most out of all the kids

Being closer to their age and all

You all were together everyday, never leaving each other's side

You and Ekko were hanging out one day when you saw a strange man come into the shop

You both could tell he wasn't from the Undercity

And he paid Ekko in gold, Ekko charged him double price with your convincing

And after you both followed him to his pretty apartment in Piltover

And you could tell he was rich, or had rich connections

So when you guys came back you told Vi, she was proud as hell of you both

And her, Powder, Claggor and Mylo left to rob the apartment

That was the start of it all

Vander was taken, Benzo was killed and in the middle of the night after staying with Ekko to help him, you felt the ground shake

You panicked, telling Ekko to stay there in the shop as you ran like hell

When you got there Vi was leaning against a wall as she sobbed

You kneeled down beside her to check on her, worried as she looked at you shocked

Then you both looked up, seeing the man recognized as Silco standing above your best friend on the ground

You both bolted, standing up to go get her before you were hit on the head

You fell to the ground, your conscious abandoning you

When you woke up, you were in a stone cell with Vi shaking you

You both were in prison, you thought they couldn't keep you there without trial o question

But you were wrong

Simply because you were from the Undercity, they kept you both there

For seven years

Vi kept you safe, you were all she had

But you both wanted out

And one day you got it

When a certain someone came around with a drawing of a monkey

You finally came back to the Undercity, looking for Powder and Ekko

And you found Powder, just not in the way you thought

And then you were ambushed by people in masks

One you swore you saw before, lingering in the shadows

And then you woke up in a random room

The one in the mask leaning against a wall

Leaning against a wall, in the shadows a man with a white owl mask leaned against a wall.

You glared, standing up as you balled your fists.

"Who the hell are you?" You asked, your guard fully up as he slowly stepped out of the shadows.

"Why the hell am I here? Why won't you fucking answer?!" You yelled, impatient as he just kept staring at you.

You then intently watched as he reached up to his mask, your eyes widening as you saw he was taking it off.

His head faced to the ground, his mask hissing as he dropped it to his side. He then stepped into the light, looking up as your eyes found familiarity in his face.

"...Ekko?" You breathed out, shocked as you stepped forward once. You then stopped as he looked at you with a blank stare. "Where the hell have you been?" He asked.

"What? Where am I? What the hell is all this?" You asked, panicking as you looked around.

You didn't like not knowing stuff, feeling paranoid of what was to come.

"What do you know about this?" He asked, opening a case to a blue stone.

"Nothing! Powder had it, I don't know why but- shit, oh my god." You said, pacing back and forth as you tried to calm down.

"Where have you been? Where have you and Vi been? And why the hell were you with Jinx and-"

Everything felt like it was spinning, Ekko's questions coming in fast and you couldn't keep up.

You felt tears pooling in your eyes, your hands meeting your head as you tried to get the feeling of nausea to pass.

You wanted to know where you were, what happened while you were gone and what the hell happened to Powder.

"Ekko! Jus-Just shut the hell up!" You cut him off, yelling as he paused and looked at you worried.

You looked tired, your entire body shaking as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

Everything was so fast and you couldn't keep up.

"What the hell is going on?! What happened?! Me and Vi, w-we were thrown in Still- Prison and-"

Ekko's eyes widened at your confession, Prison?

What the hell did you mean Prison?

"Prison?! What the hell do you mean by Prison, Y/n?" He asked, you looking at him.

"Yeah, we were thrown in Stillwater. No trial, nothing for seven fucking years!" You yelled, closing your eyes as you backed up into a pole.

You breathed heavily as you tried to ground yourself.

"What happened while we were gone?! Powder- or Jinx, or whoever the fuck! What happened to her?! What happened to my best friend…"

you trailed off, beginning to sob as everything sunk in.

Through the years you never actually had time to sit and think so it was all coming in like waves.

Vander had died, Benzo died, Claggor and Mylo died. You and VI were thrown in jail without question.

When you got out Powder was someone else, Silco flooded the lanes and took your guys' home. And Ekko was fucking yelling at you.

You hated being yelled at, it was something your birth parents did before leaving you to rot and it stuck with you.

Ekko looked at you sadly, his eyes filled with sympathy and guilt as he remembered you hated being yelled at.

He slowly steps toward you, grabbing your hand and softly pulling you close to him.

"It's okay, everything's fine, I'm here…" he quietly stated, you holding onto him for dear life as your breathing calmed down.

"What happened while we were gone…?" You quietly asked, looking up at Ekko. He sighed, shaking his head.

"A lot, Y/n. A lot." He stated.

You examined his face, lifting your palm to his right cheek as you sniffled.

"Aw, Little man isn't little anymore." You laughed softly, Ekko rolling his eyes at you amusedly.

You slowly pulled back into the hig, your ear rested against his chest where his heart was.

You found Ekko, and for now you would live in the moment. At least for a bit, because at least he was okay.

You had been taken in by Benzo when young

And met Vi a couple days after

You two were stuck together by the hip

You were close in age and liked being together

You were the calm one while she was the harsh one

Still, match made in heaven

She liked being with you because you were calming

You liked being with her because she was her

And everything was great

Until the apartment heist

Everything went wrong after that

Benzo died

And so did Vander, Mylo and Claggor

What didn't help was Vi had went missing and Powder became Jinx

She never messed with you, visiting you when she could

But she didn't like being reminded of Powder

She clung to you still because you were all she had left, and you were like her other big sister growing up

You came to terms Vi was dead, you had to survive though

So Babbette offered you a job, at the Brothel

Wasn't your ideal job but you took it

Everything was a bit peaceful in your life for a while

Until the past came knocking

You cleaned up your room in the brothel, your last client had come in and left after about 30 minutes and you were done for the day.

You were tired as hell and just wanted to get to Jericho's, eat and come back and sleep until forever.

You had changed into something a bit more comfortable, grabbing your keys and about to head out until you heard the door open.

It then clicked closed just as you reached for your keys. You sighed, talking over your shoulder.

"Wrong room. I'm done for the day, sorry." You said, walking forward as your hand grasped your keychain.

"Aw, too bad. You sure you don't have time for me, sweetheart?"

That voice…you heard it before. You froze, you felt like you couldn't move at all.

You recognized it but you didn't want to accept it.

Over the years your mind played tricks on you, a glimpse in your peripheral had you thinking Vi was around the corner.

A whisper in your ear made you flinch thinking it was her only to come back to earth a second later.

You shook your head, not looking behind you.

"Enough with the games, brain. She's not here…" you mumbled to yourself, resuming what you had been doing.

"But it's not a game. It's me, Y/n." She said again, this time you felt like crying as you realized she didn't go away.

She would've left by now if it was a game.

You slowly turned around, your eyes finding the woman now grown up standing in front of you.

She stared back at you with a small smile, her eyes looked you up and down.

"...Vi?" You whispered, afraid to talk as if she would disappear.

She nodded her head, stepping closer to you.

You gave a small sniffle, as she got closer you lunged at her.

You knocked her back a fre steps before she stabled herself.

She gave a small chuckle mixed with a sniffle. She hugged you back, missing your touch over the years.

"You're okay.. How in hell are you alive?" You asked, your head not leaving her chest.

"Believe me, I don't even know." She mumbled, resting her chin on top of your head as she closed her eyes.

She felt a little peace in that moment, holding you.

Maybe the seven years of hoping and praying paid off, because you were actually here.

Alive. And with her now.

And god, she was never letting you go, ever again.

VIKTOR

Your dad was Singed, and you met him when his boat flowed through the cavern

That's when you first saw him, you sat next to Rio as it knocked against your foot

He then stepped into your vision

He was hesitant until your dad beckoned him towards you guys as he held his toy boat in his hand

You then noticed his cane, tilting your head at it but shaking it off

Wasn't anything new, and was best not to ask

He was a loner, not being able to play with the other kids

You didn't like playing with them, thought they were idiots who were even ruder than their parents

You preferred staying with your dad and helping Rio

And eventually you three became loners together

You and Viktor grew up close together

You were stuck to the other like glue

You also both helped your dad with his gadgetry and projects

Everything was good, until Rio got worse

You begged your dad to let her go, but he always said the same thing

"The mutation must survive"

But Viktor didn't like it

And he left

You never saw him again for a long time

Viktor sat in his lab, Jayce gone for the day for whatever he did. He was messing with Hex tech, trying to improve it as he heard the lab door open.

"Sorry, Jayce is not here. And I am quite busy." He called over his shoulder, not looking back as he went back to his gadget.

He heard a sigh from behind him. 'Must be Sky.' He thought, not paying anymore mind until a voice broke the silence.

"Aw, not even enough time for little 'ol me?" He paused, it couldn't be. He hadn't seen you for years.

And in Piltover? His lab nonetheless?

He turned around, shocked as he saw your smirking face standing at the middle counter of the lab.

"Y/n!" He exclaimed, smiling as he stood up and grabbed his cane.

You laughed, walking towards him and meeting him halfway.

You wrapped your arms around his neck.

"I haven't seen you in years." He smiled, you pulling away as you laughed.

"Yeah, about time, huh?" He nodded his head. "Yes, how did you know I was here?" He asked.

"I got in contact with your lab partner, Jayce. He was excited to help." You explained, nudging his cheek as he shook his head.

"Remind me to thank him, for once." He joked.

"Wow, Piltover really has a hold on you. You have humour now?" You teased, the man rolling his eyes at you amusedly as he pulled away.

"Come, I should show you my creation." He walked over to his desk, you following him

You always wondered what his life was in Piltover, now you could be apart of it.

#arcane #arcane x reader #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #arcane violet #vi arcane #vi x reader #ekko x y/n #ekko x reader #ekko x you #vi arcane x reader

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lowaltitude · 2 years

Text

Passive (2) | Billy Hargrove

- Stranger Things

- Part One. Part Two. Part Three.

- x Reader (Y/N)

❪ FEM! ❫

───── ❝ description + disclaimer ❞ ─────

𖥻 original prompt: ‘ “don’t you know who i am?” “yup. i just don’t care” ’

𖥻 no connection to Stranger Things series timeline. 1.9k words

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

A week had passed, and at least 3 days Billy had driven drive me home or too school. I’d spend the short drive chatting with Max, I liked her a lot she was a very cool kid. What I didn’t enjoy however was Billy’s often reckless driving, and the stares i’d get as people watched me going to and from his car.

“Bye Max” I smile at the young girl as she drops her skateboard, the girl waves and pushes off towards the middle school. Tucking my hands in my pockets, I walked into the school, finding my way to my locker on muscle memory as I manoeuvred though the crowd. Grabbing all my stuff I keep my head down and go to biology.

Billy looks up as I walk in, nodding his head before looking at Tommy H. “Move”

“What?” Tommy forced out laughter, visibly confused.

“You’re in her seat”

“Sorry” I sigh, awkwardly rocking back and fourth on my heels as I stand by the table. Tommy moves, sitting in the seat next to his lab partner and allowing me to sit in my regular spot.

“Hey”

“I saw you less than 3 minutes ago” Rolling my eyes, I pull out my notebook and a pen. Drawing spirals on a blank page and waiting for the lesson to start.

“You have to say ‘hey’ back, it’s considered rude to not reply”

I snapped my attention to him. He, of all people, was telling me about being rude? He was in desperate need of a reality check if he thought me ignoring him was ruder than practically everything he did. I was revving up to kick him in the shin when Mrs Green walked in and started our lesson.

Billy stared at me as I began doing my- our work. “Stop looking at me” I frown, he raised an eyebrow, putting his elbow on the table so he could hold his head up as he waited patiently. “Hey” I sighed, defeated.

Billy smiled, grabbing a pen and twirling it in his hand as he mindlessly read what was on the whiteboard.

“What kind of music do you like?” He asked, dropping the pen and turning his seat so he was facing me. His knees spread apart, arms folded across his chest, and leaned back against the chair.

“Why does it matter?”

“Because”

I looked at him in my peripheral vision, rolling my eyes and biting the inside of my cheek in a moment of thought. “Same as you, I guess”

“You guess?”

“Music, Billy, I like music. Don’t bug me about if i prefer… Mötley Crüe to Duran Duran” I wave my hand, trying to dismiss the conversation.

He nods, watching as I go back to taking notes. “But you do prefer Motley right? I heard you listening to them the other day” Furrowing my eyebrows, I looked at him, turning in my seat so I could face him completely. “You should really close your curtains if you’re going to dance in your bedroom without wanting me to see it”

“Don’t look in my bedroom window, it’s that easy. Freak”

Billy chuckled, leaning forward so he was a few inches from my face “Yeah. Maybe I am a freak, but I think you’d like it” I opened my mouth, about to respond saying that he was deliberately twisting my words to make then sound sexual.

“Billy, Y/N. This is not your lunch break, back to work” Mrs Green told us off, shaking her head as she continued to write on the board.

Swiftly, Billy grabbed a sheet of paper, moving his seat so he was sat normally at the desk and began scribbling down what was on the board. I blinked a few times before turning and continuing.

As soon as Mrs Green looked away Billy stopped writing and just started drawing shapes on his page to keep himself busy. Sighing to himself, Billy moved his arm and touched his elbow against mine. I froze for a moment, my brain seemed to stop functioning as I looked at his arm for a second before moving away.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

I ignored Billy as I left school, taking a seat on the bus and blankly staring out the window the whole ride home. It was easy to tune out the loud noises my classmates made, my mind was too preoccupied.

Billy being actually nice to me had thrown me off my game.

As I stepped off the bus, I adjusted my backpack strap and Billy jogged down the footpath. Tucking his hands in his pockets as he got to my mailbox.

“Yes?” I asked, confused, glancing over my shoulder to look at some of the people in the bus that were looking out the window at us.

He smirked “Got you so worked up you couldn’t spend another minute with me without throwing yourself at me today, didn’t i?”

The bus started to pull away and I scoffed, looking at Billy unimpressed. “Oh of course, i’ve had nothing but you on my mind all day”

“Really?”

“No!” I groan, turning away from him and starting to walk up my driveway. Billy followed after me quickly, and I spun to point at him as I pulled open the front door “Down boy. Sit. Stay.”

“If you’re going to treat me like a dog you could at least call me a good boy”

“You have to be good for that”

“Do I get in trouble if i’m bad?” He leaned against the doorway and I stared at him for a second before just pushing the door shut in his face.

Going to my room, I put my backpack on my bed and pulled the hair tie off my wrist so I could tie my hair back, looking out my window and seeing Billy standing on the lawn still.

He waved as he recognised that I had spotted him, and in response I pulled my curtains closed, falling back on my bed and sighing in frustration.

“Stop it.” I reprimand myself “He’s not even that cute”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

Saturday. The best day of the week with nobody but me in the house.

Stretching in bed, I debated on if I wanted to stay here just a little longer or get up and grab something to eat. It was 11am and my stomach had woken me up.

Dragging a blanket with me, I happily made my way to the kitchen, I turned on the television and danced around in my pyjamas as I poured cereal into a bowl.

“I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation” I sang quietly, putting bread in the toaster “Living in the past, it's a new generation”

Pouring in milk and then eating a spoonful, the toaster popped and I continued to sing as I buttered one of the pieces

“A girl can do what she wants to do and that's what I'm gonna do” A knock at the door caught me off guard and I groaned, quickly running my hands through my hair and grabbing the buttered toast. “An' I don't give a damn 'bout my bad reputation”

Biting into the toast and holding it between my teeth, I wiped my hands on my pants and pulled the door open. Billy turned his head to me, leaning against the doorframe and a slow smirk appearing on his face.

“Good morning”

He reached forward, grabbing the toast out of my mouth and leaving my flabbergasted. I chewed the bite of toast in my mouth as he shrugged and took a bite.

“What are you doing here?” And why were you taking the food right out of my mouth

“Is it so strange that I want to spend time with you, gorgeous?”

“Yes, actually” I crossed my arms over my stomach, remembering that this shirt was a little cropped and my midriff was exposed.

He took another bite of the toast, pushing off the doorframe and walking right into my house without an invitation “You just wake up?” He asked, looking around. He looked at a picture of me as kid on the wall and pointed to the frame “You were cute, what happened?”

“You can’t just want into my home and tell me I got uglier”

“Never said that” He shrugged “Said you were cute, called you gorgeous not even a minute ago. You got hearing issues or something?”

Dumbfounded, I dropped my hands to my sides and stood there. Staring at him as he continued looking around.

He picked my blanket off the floor as he finished the toast, draping it over the back of the couch before taking a seat and looking at what was playing on the tv.

“Are you going to close the door?” He said after a minute, bringing me back to earth. I closed the front door and moved, turning off the tv and standing in front of it.

“I’m trying to enjoy my day”

“You’ll enjoy it more with me” He grinned,. patting the seat beside him. “I know it, Y/N”

“You don’t even know me”

“So?” From his face, I could tell he was getting annoyed and trying to hide it “I’m trying to”

Oh. Was he angry that I wasn’t letting him try to be my friend? I don’t know how long I stood there in deep thought, but Billy had quirked his head to the side and a small dirty blonde ringlet of hair slid across his forehead slowly.

“Fine” I huff, feigning aggravation. Billy smiles and i take a seat on the couch, leaving a space big enough for another person between us. “Do you want to just watch a movie?”

“Let's play spin the bottle” He offers

Rolling me eyes, an action I found myself doing often when in his company, I pursed my lips and shook my head at him “There's only two of us”

“So you're saying it would be easier if we just made out?” He raised an eyebrow, putting one hand on the back of the couch and pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“No, i'm saying i'm not playing your games”

“But I know you want to kiss me. I can tell” He seemed so sure of himself, as if me not throwing him out of the house immediately was confirmation enough that I was having conflicting feelings about him lately.

“Sure you can” I say sarcastically “How exactly can you 'tell'?”

“It’s in your eyes. Your breathing pattern changes when i get close enough.” He moved forward, staring deeply into my eyes only a few inches from my face as if he could see my soul and I tried to look anywhere but his face. “And I don't think you noticed, but you're balling your fists pretty tight”

I looked down at my lap, and sure enough, I had gathered the fabric of my pyjama pants in little clumps. I released my first and cleared my throat, looking back up at him, right in the eyes the time so he wouldn’t get the better of me.

“That's because i'm annoyed you're getting in my personal space” I force myself to scoff at him, sinking slighting into the couch.

“Okay, and if I do this you're still annoyed?” Billy used his hand to move a piece of my unbrushed hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear carefully. His hand lingered, slowly trailing down my neck as he pulled his hand away.

“Yes” I said defensively, hoping he couldn’t hear the little voice in my head that was definitely screaming.

“Uh huh” He nodded, moving back to his original sitting position. “Got anything else to eat?”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

to be continued…

- new read billy’s retelling here!

tags: @im-julessssss @m-rae23 @moonie-brbs @iamaslutforcoffee (great username by the way) @kenny-power @billy-hargroves-wife @maackiimoo + i can’t reply to comments sorry, if you comment for part 3 you’ll be tagged !

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blueberrybladelemonade · 10 months

Text

Colors of Chance

Pepperman x Reader

(Inspired by another lovely comic by @pervertedindividual this is for you, fren🫂💜)

Comic by them:

Takes place after Y/N's first meeting with Pepperman from Colors of Expression but diverges from that fic completely after that! You don't need to read that fic for this one!

Contains: The anthropomorphic pepper makes fun of you. Again. A very tiny amount of angst. Fluff ending.

"Oh! It's that Y/N girl again." How fortunate that Pepperman had the chance to see you again. It had been weeks since he seen you last at the studio. He cringed inwardly as he recalled your (deserved) tirade at him. You had come into the studio one other time since that day. What happened instead was that you had opened the door, locked eyes with his, and simply turned around and left.

"Hmm." You click your tongue, startled at the sudden voice nearby.

"Hello there".

"Oh. It's you." You scoff and wipe your hand with a dry rag. "Don't worry I'll be taking my ugly art elsewhere".

"No need I want you to stay." Pepperman stepped towards you and pat you on the shoulder. He wants me to...stay? You give him a silent look to continue as your heart fluttered just a tiny bit.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot last time so how about we start over on good terms"?

You pause for a moment, before giving him a small smile. "Okay".

"Splendid!" He replies, giving you a smile of his own. "So what are you creating?" He asked, glancing over your shoulder at your latest work.

"Well, I'm doing a finger painting of this-" he stifled a laugh. "Wha-Hey! What's so funny?! You snap, feeling heat rise at the back of your neck.

"Finger painting on a big canvas? Quite bohemian don't you think?" He lets out a laugh.

You snort. "So?"

"Wouldn't it be better and more efficient to use brushes instead"?

What a jerk. you felt your eye twitch. So much for getting off on the wrong foot. At some point you tuned out his voice as he continued mocking your art. Your nostrils flared.

"To be honest I think it's cute-"

An exasperated yell torn from your throat, drowning out what ever other critique this overgrown vegetable was spewing. Pepperman's mouth dropped taken aback by the shift in your demeanor.

"Must you judge everything! Where do you get off from criticizing others, huh"?! You snarl.

"I-"

"No! Forget it! This was a mistake." You felt a burning prickle in the corner of your eyes and spun around before tears threatened to spill over.

"And to think I looked up to you." You choked out, barely audible to even yourself.

* * * * *

As you grumbled to yourself as you sunk into the couch. Meeting your idols is a mistake. You huff and cross your arms, glaring into the empty space.

Many months ago there had been a local art convention that caught your attention. You remembered reading the article and the hosted events and grew curious. You had never been to something like this and on a whim decided to make that your plan for the week.

There had been a variety of talents that day. Light and airy melodies echoed throughout the hallways as you took in the drawings around you. Some were vivid hues, some all done in black in white. More still were all of the different styles, all as unique as the artists.

As the day progressed you claimed a seat in the auditorium. You settled yourself in the middle of the row, not too close and not too far away from the podium and waited. That's when you had met him.

You couldn't remember much, if anything, about the other speakers that had come and gone. The individual that stuck out to you that day was a massive pepper that had taken the podium. He had introduced himself as Phil Pepperman and you very clearly recalled how eloquent he spoke. Even his euphemisms were almost poetic as he discussed his art and what he was passionate about.

From what you had learned was that he was rising in fame in your town. He was very strict in his art techniques, refusing to diverge and add any elements not matching what ever style he was emulating.

While you disagreed with the notion of never adding your own twist to your art, you had respect Pepperman for it. His strict adherence to each style was something you could admire. As he displayed some of his illustrations on the projector - side by side with other works in those specific styles - you almost couldn't tell the creators apart.

That was his talent and Pepperman almost had it down to a science. He could mimic most styles he studied and depict what ever he had wanted in it. The downside, however, was that unconventional methods were something he looked down on.

A small scowl formed on your face as you took another sip of your drink. That didn't give him an excuse to be such an asshole though.

Truth be told, you had begun looking up art Pepperman had created and sometimes you'd see his creations on display at festivals. His art was always something you could recognize but maybe that had more to do with the fact he drew himself in various styles. A lot.

Pompous jerk. He only- you jolt up with a start, the sudden screaming from your phone almost causing you to drop it.

"Hello"?

"Hi is this Y/N?" The caller asked.

"Uh, yes"?

"Hi Y/N It's Dave from the studio. I was cleaning out the racks today and noticed you left one of your paintings here. Did you want to collect it or should we throw it out"?

"O-oh," "Thank you, I didn't know I left something there. I'll come get it tomorrow".

You exchange a few more pleasantries before coming up with the excuse that you needed to go.

* * * * *

You arrive at the studio and weave through the random people to make your way to the wall. Most times you didn't mind lingering and making small talk but you weren't in the mood today. There were paintings, clay, and brushes were set to dry or to return to another day.

As you locate your name labelled above one of the slots, you the pull out the canvas and your eyes widen. It was the painting you had been working on last week that you abandoned. A few places had smeared paint, another few had grass and dirt clung and dried into it. That aside though, it was intact. But why was it here?

You quirk a brow as you see a bright green paper folded and taped to the side. The note comes off easily enough and you pull it open.

Y/N if able, could you meet me at the rooftop of Tirizia's this Sunday?

~PP

You let out a huff as you eyes lock onto the all too familiar signature.

Seriously? Why? What did he want? Wasn't Tirizia's that restaurant with the fancy rooftop garden?

* * * * *

It was.

Ivy grew along the stone walls with an occasional pop of color from a flower. As you looked further inside, a large stone and marble structure was in the center of the restaurant. Glass from overhead had filtered light directly onto it as water tumbled down from the peak. From the base there was a small pond surrounded by tables where you could sit and feel the light mist.

Your eyes settled on the stairwell in the distant corner. A trail of flowers lined the railing all the way up and at the top you could see a faint arch illuminated softly. Very briefly you argued with yourself if you should just turn and walk out. Why did you want to meet Pepperman, anyway? He turned out to be insufferable and hated your art. Yet he went out of his way to take your painting to the studio.

Despite wanting to leave, you found your legs carrying you up each step to the rooftop.

"Ah, there you are Y/N." You glance to the side and see Pepperman sitting at a table with a canvas in front of him. There was an empty space beside him with an equally blank canvas, unoccupied.

You eye Pepperman suspiciously as he gestures for you to sit next to him. You shake your head and only take a few steps towards him. This probably wouldn't take long, the minute he started to say anything critiquing you, you were leaving.

"Thank you for saving my terrible painting and taking it to the studio, but you didn't have to".

Pepperman gives you a small frown, "Why do you think it's terrible"?

Your stare at him in disbelief. "Well let's see. The first time you seen my art, you called it a "tragic amalgam" and THEN last week you made fun of me for finger painting on a large canvas. Like who does that? Why do you think..."

"Y/N".

You can't even hear him, instead you continue your rant. "I mean seriously, just because its 'bohemian' at least I CAN add my-"

"Y/N"! Pepperman shouts over you, losing his composure for a moment.

You stop and purse your lips, a scowl flashing across your face. Why did you think you should try talking with Pepperman a THIRD time? You should've left like you were going to. Instead you flinch as he strode over to you and clasps a hand on your shoulder.

He looks away, lowering his eyes to the restaurant below. "I said your art was cute".

"Wha-"?

"I think your finger painting was cute. It was unorthodox and yet you were quite content. Despite the huge mess." He chuckled to himself.

"I...huh"? You couldn't but remain rooted in place. Pepperman actually...thought your art was cute?

"So why didn't you just say that instead of making fun of me?" You glared but your eyes shone with a mix of curiosity.

"Because it's unorthodox. You're an eccentric one, Y/N. I can't make sense of your methods or techniques." His eyes returned your gaze, "You don't follow any rules to what you create, you simply do what you like. It's both whimsical and confusing for one who always follows guidelines and tradition".

As Pepperman finished speaking silence spread between you both. You remained speechless as you tried to process what he had said, only the echo of water and voices from below were heard.

After what felt like minutes Pepperman slowly returned to his seat, as he sat down he looked back at you expectantly.

You clicked your tongue and sat in front of the other canvas. The objects in front of you weren't food, you realized, it was assorted paints.

Pepperman gives you a nervous smile, "I was hoping you would allow me the honor of finger painting with you..."

You crack a wide smile, "With no brushes".

"With no brushes." He repeats and nods, "On a large canvas overlooking this splendid balcony".

You shift and get comfortable in the chair and look over the colors you had. A small groan is heard and you cast a sideways glance at Pepperman. You stifle a laugh as he tentatively picks up a container of bright blue paint. He looked uncomfortable, as he dipped a finger into the thick mixture, but that was a small price to pay as you let out a laugh.

#pizza tower #pepperman x reader #pepperman #pizza tower x reader #🫐bladezfics #pizza tower fanfic

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kauriart · 1 year

Text

How Alistair Fell in Love with Bethany Hawke

Chapter 1: A Drink in the Dark A Dragon Age fic | Alistair x Bethany Hawke | Read it on A03

Alastair jolts awake in total darkness, hand sliding unerringly to the hilt of his sword even as he realizes—

There are no darkspawn.

Someone is shouting, and there are no darkspawn.

It is the middle of the night, and someone is shouting, and there are no darkspawn.

Stroud will have their head.

Alistair shakes off the last bit of fogginess from sleep and begins to stuff himself into his boots and armor by force of habit, attention entirely fixed on the sharply rising voices on the far edge of the camp. It isn’t one of the other Warden’s, he’s sure. But whoever they are, they’ll draw every darkspawn within a league if they keep up with that noise.

He grimaces at the thought. It’s too bloody early for a fight, but adrenaline zings through him anyways. He slings his shield over his shoulder, but keeps his sword in hand, secure in its scabbard — just in case — and strides to the far side of the camp where the commotion is growing.

Stroud is there, surprisingly still in just breeches and shirt sleeves and bare feet. Directly in front of him is a man with coal black hair and a beard to match, armed and armored and nearly vibrating with violence. His voice ratchets up and down like the swelling of the seas. Tucked behind the bearded man is a ruddy-haired Dwarf, face bare, and serious. He flinches a little at the noise, but remains quiet himself. And standing beside them is—

“Anders?” Alistair blurts, mouth dropping open.

The Warden-Mage turns towards him briefly, the ghost of a smile on his lips, though much of his attention stays fixed on his noisy companion. “Hullo, Alistair.”

Four years have changed Anders dramatically. He was always tall and thin, but now there's a gauntness to his face that is more than the toll paid to the deep roads. The shadows beneath his eyes are dark as bruises, and the easy humor has been all but wiped away, replaced by something grim and… resigned.

“What’s going on?” Alistair asks.

“Foolishness,” Stroud answers curtly.

The bearded man makes a sound that’s akin to a growl, and though he doesn’t move, everything in his demeanor looks even more menacing.

Anders glances at him warily. “Hawke and I have come seeking help, and have found the Wardens... less forthcoming than I remembered.”

Stroud waves away the observation. "We've no way to help, Anders, and you know it. What were you even thinking coming here? If you can find us then you’re still enough of a Warden to sense that you’ve been dragging half-a-legion of darkspawn naught but a days march behind you. What do you think will happen when they catch up? I cannot see how a corpse can be worth such a risk.”

“Corpse?” Alistair blinks, startled, noticing for the first time the figure laid out on the floor, wrapped in a heavily stained blanket nearly head to toe. A pair of ugly, worn boots poke out of the bottom, but that’s all.

Hawke — Alistair assumes — makes a loud, angry noise, but he keeps his eyes on Stroud. "She's alive. Or what the fuck do you think we're doing here?”

Alistair kneels, and carefully pulls a hood-like fold of the blanket away from the figure’s face.

A woman.

And she's—

Alistair has been stunned utterly speechless three times in his life.

The first time was vertigo. A stunning sense of falling through the floor the first time he’d seen his father from afar. Seen his own features mirrored and muted; wrapped in spun gold and topped with a crown.

The second time was shock. Morrigan, mouth twisted in a line like she’d bitten a sour lemon, offering something absolutely ridiculous. What do witches know of Warden matters anyway?

The third time was horror. He’d seen an archdemon before of course, in his dreams. But it was different in the flesh. Ten thousand pounds of malice and terror, with wings broad enough to blot out the sun. Death lingering on the horizon.

But this… This time it is something else entirely. Something indescribable stirring deep in his belly.

She's—

He blinks.

Maker, she’s lovely.

And clearly dying.

She’s pale and cold as marble, with black spidery veins of the taint winding up her limbs. She's conscious, but barely, breathing ragged, and shallow, and strained. She’s young. Perhaps even a few years younger than himself, and finely featured. Dark hair falls in tangled curls around her face. Her eyes flicker open, a surprisingly bright, coppery sort of brown, but they’re unfocused, drifting over him in listless patterns.

“Hullo,” Alistair says quietly, fingers drifting towards the curls on her brow.

She doesn’t respond.

"You’d let her take the Joining like this?" Stroud's voice rises for the first time, cold and brittle. "Are you mad? A knife would be a quicker death, and a kinder one."

Hawke takes a slow step forward until he's nearly nose to nose with Stroud. "I wasn’t asking.” He isn’t shouting any more. His voice is low and mild. Almost pleasant. Conversational. “You’ll do it. Or I'll kill you.” His hand raises with that same, slow deliberateness, and fits itself around the collar of Stroud’s shirt. " You. Specifically. And I promise it won't be quick, or kind."

“Threatening a Warden with death is not particularly effective,” Stroud says with a raised brow. “And you are outnumbered. Badly.”

Hawke chuckles darkly through his teeth. "Am. I?”

Stroud’s eyes narrow, and Alistair can feel his heart rate pick up in response to that look from his Warden-Commander. Every time he’s seen it, death has swiftly followed.

Oh fuck.

Hawke must pick up on the subtle shift of the atmosphere. The chuckle drops nearly an octave, into something more like a growl, all rumble and danger and every hair stands up on the back of Alistair’s neck.

Double fuck.

He shifts his body so the bulk of him is directly above the girl. If it comes to a fight he’ll keep her safe. Stroud will be careful enough, but Hawke seems the type of man whose violence gets messy. This way at least, he can have his shield over them both in a heartbeat.

The silence drags, a solid wall of tension stretched between one man and the other. A strange sort of stalemate. Hawke doesn’t give an inch, and neither does Stroud.

But Anders is the bridge between both worlds. “She’s a mage, Stroud,” he offers to the silence. “You know what that would mean to the Order.”

Mages are rare. Warden mages, rarer still.

Stroud takes a half-step back, head inclining slightly. Even Hawke turns away, though in his case it is to shift his glare to Anders.

Alistair holds his breath, waiting, heart still hammering away.

He has served under three Warden Commanders. Duncan was all instinct. Emmory was blind courage. But Stroud is tradition; well-rooted in discipline and pragmatism. He might be… He should be…

But—

“No,” Stroud shakes his head. “If I was that interested in a mage, Anders, I’d just insist that you stay where you belong.”

Hawke reacts instantly, folding his hand into a fist and punching Stroud square in the gut. The Warden Commander doubles over with a strangled rush of air. A handful of Wardens rush forward armed and angry, but Stroud manages to wave them back, glaring.

"Last chance,” Hawke warns quietly.

“The joining is not a cure, Anders,” Stroud says. He ignores Hawke, though his voice is noticeably strained. One hand casually spans his middle. “I would have expected you of all people to know that.”

“It’s a chance,” Anders insists, stubborn as ever.

"Not for her,” the Warden Commander says.

There’s a sudden flurry of motion as Hawke launches himself at Stroud, the flash of a blade in his hand. Magic flares, and a barrier springs up between them, before settling around them both. Hawke spits out a series of curses — first at Anders, then at Stroud, and then at Anders again. He jams his dagger back into its sheath, rogue-quick, and grabs Stroud’s shirtfront, shaking vigorously. Stroud grabs him back and the stand-off quickly devolves into a shoving match.

Hawke makes a determined and largely ineffectual attempt to knee Stroud in the balls.

The shouting starts again after that — mostly from Hawke, describing in detail his plans for Stroud’s entrails — and Alistair winces. Not at Hawke’s descriptions which seem anatomically improbable, but at the damn noise. Noise draws the attention of darkspawn, as does the scent of blood. And there’s quite a lot of noise right now, and quite a lot of blood.

Despite all that, Alistair’s attention slips back to the girl. Her breathing is still shallow and uneven, but the bright copper of her eyes seems duller now , irises slowly going grey and gummy. Something swoops in the pit of Alistair's stomach. A sick sort of emptiness, all hard-edged, and desperate. Someone has to do something.

Something beyond posturing and bluster.

Maker, someone has to do something. He has to—

"We'll do it," Alistair says all at once, the words so hurried the syllables are all pressed together into a single sound. "We’ll do it,” he says again. “Anders is right. We can help her. We have to.”

Hawke and Stroud both freeze, varying levels of surprise on their faces.

Then Stroud's expression sharpens. “Alistair.”

“We have to,” Alistair insists, gesturing helplessly. “Please. She’s—“

“You had your chance to lead,” Stroud interrupts tersely. “Now you must follow.”

Alistair’s brows shoot up. It’s the truth, but it hits him like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t wanted command. He hadn’t sought leadership. Had refused Weisshaupt on the matter, repeatedly. And when Stroud had been named Warden Commander in his stead, he had sworn both publicly and privately, to follow his lead, without question. And he had never broken that oath.

Never wavered.

Never once.

And yet he can feel his jaw shift stubbornly. (His father’s jaw, square-set like all the old Kings of Ferelden. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard sometimes to bend.) “Perhaps,” he squares his shoulders and takes a breath. “But Warden Commander or no, you’ve not seen half of what I have as a Warden.”

Stroud's expression remains steely.

He raises a single black brow.

“We can help her,” Alistair insists. “We have to at least try.” He scrubs his hand through his hair, feeling panicky. “You don’t understand. We wouldn’t have ended the fifth blight so swiftly without the mages. You don’t— you’ve no idea what it was like to fight the— Well. At Denerim. Or Amaranthine. And we haven’t yet regained even a third of what the Order lost at Ostagar. We need every Warden we can get. Every last one,” he glares up at Stroud. “Especially her,” he says as firmly as he can. “We need her. So we are going to help her.”

There is a stunned sort of silence.

Anders shifts back and forth, expression unreadable.

Stroud pulls himself from Hawke’s grip and steps back, flicking his hands down his chest, smoothing out his crumpled shirtfront; one of the buttons has been torn free and he picks at a loose thread. “Mage or no, I am not in the habit of making people suffer needlessly.” Stroud looks at Alistair pointedly.

“Me neither,” Alistair glances down at the girl. “But we’re the only one's who can save her.”

Stroud looks at Alistair for a moment as though he has never seen him before. He makes an amused sound, and shakes his head, but the gesture is all exasperation. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing," he asks mildly.

Alistair grins reflexively, all nerves no humor. “Not the least little bit.”

Stroud is silent a moment more, then he scrubs a hand across his face as if exhausted. “She’ll not survive it.”

It is no different than what he’s said before, but now there is a gentleness in Stroud’s voice that makes Alistair’s throat close up. He tries to speak, but instead gives a hitching, one shouldered shrug.

Stroud takes a deep, slow breath, air dragging noisily through his lungs. “Fine. I conscript her. It’s done.”

And with that, the girl belongs to the Wardens.

“Thank you,” Anders says after a quiet moment, and sets a hand on Hawke’s shoulder, forearm across his chest as if to offer a protective embrace.

The anger in Hawke’s expression dissolves nearly instantly, and he sags into Anders’ touch. It’s clear now that the rage was all but holding him together. Without it, he looks almost lost; empty, and strangely vulnerable. The hands at his side open and close in slow motion, as if grasping for something no longer there.

“You'll leave immediately,” Stroud says crisply, focusing back on Hawke and his companions.

“I can take them,” Alistair offers. He goes to stand, but his knees sort of lock up. He doesn’t want Stroud and Hawke to have the opportunity to knife each other, but he doesn't want to leave her, more.

“I’ll take them,” Stroud says firmly. “I’ll not leave Hawke alone with any of my people. Besides, the girl is your responsibility now.” He gives Alistair a meaningful look. “Mera,” he calls to another Warden over his shoulder, not looking. “You have command.”

Ever the antagonist, Hawke moves to block Stroud’s path.

“I am not leaving her.”

“We said she’d take the joining, and so she will,” Stroud says, voice cold. “This is Warden business now. And you have no place here.”

Hawke's eyes are hard, and so haunted they are nearly black. For a moment Alistair thinks it may come to violence after all. Instead Hawke nods with a fair bit of bad grace. Anders' head drops briefly, relieved, and the barriers he cast fizzle out of existence.

It is over.

Hawke kneels, and with a fierce and startling tenderness, leans in and kisses the girl’s forehead. He murmurs something against her skin, too faint for Alistair to hear, but his meaning is clear enough.

He is saying goodbye.

Alistair turns his head to give them what privacy he can, but when he turns back Hawke is staring at him with a manic sort of intensity, brown eyes dark with grief.

“Keep. Bethany. safe.” Every word is a command, bitten in half with anguish and lined with despair.

No matter if the Warden’s succeed — or not — Hawke is unlikely to ever see her again. And Alistair is struck anew with the quiet tragedy of it all.

Bethany.

He folds her name in his palm, like a secret, and nods, trying to keep his voice steady and certain. “I will. I promise.”

***

The black draught is a foul concoction. Dark as tar and nearly as thick, the potion smokes faintly and smells like a Darkspawn’s hindquarters. If memory serves, it tastes just as bad, too.

Alistair has overseen dozens of joinings, but it’s only his second time crafting the black draught himself. The first had been for a woodcutter from Jader. The man had been all sunburn and freckles and ginger curls; the least likely person to face the Deep Roads. Maybe that was why the Maker had marked him to die in the joining, choking and gasping with black foam all across his lips.

And Alistair standing above him, helpless and horrified.

Certain it was all his fault.

Certain he should have known better.

And yet here he is again.

Somehow.

Alistair holds his breath, heart hamming halfway through his chest. His hands are slick in his gloves.

Stroud's not wrong. Dying of the joining is no easy death. But neither is dying of the taint. Even now he can see the pain carving itself into Bethany, pronounced even above the exhaustion and the spray of dried blood that stains one cheek. And yet even through the blood and the dust and the sickly cast of her pallor, something clean and bright shines through. A tiny spark. No bigger than a firefly. And for one dizzy moment, Alistair thinks he would do anything to see the girl open her eyes — look at him — and smile.

He raises the chalice, careful not to spill, and takes a breath. “Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant,” he begins. “Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworned. And should you… should you perish,” Alistair clears his throat to mask the tremor in his voice, “know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And know that one day... we shall join you.”

The last words are little more than a whisper. Alistair kneels, gathers her up in his arms, and gently tips the rim of the cup against her lips. “Drink?” He asks quietly, watching the column of her throat carefully.

Black leaks from the corner of her mouth, running towards her ear. He wipes at it with his thumb. Thick and almost tarry, it smears.

“Please, drink.”

Maker if she is beyond even this…

“You have to drink. Please.”

Her eyes crack open a little. They’re nearly colorless now, pupils fixed and staring.

“Please, Bethany…”

She swallows.

Once.

Twice.

“Very good.” Tears prickle at his eyes, and he wipes at her mouth with the hem of his tunic. He tries to smile, but can’t manage it. His eyes dart to the pulse point beneath her jaw. “That’s very well done.”

He lays her back down as gently as he can, hand against black curl of her hair for the barest of moments.

And then he prays to the Maker.

He has not prayed to the Maker since — well, long enough that the words are stilted and slow, rusty as an old hinge.

Alistair has no illusions as to the danger of the joining. He’s seen grown men healthy and hale, die mere moments after taking the black draught, choking on foulness and dark magic alike. And suddenly it all feels like hubris, to tear her away from people who knew her — loved her — and to let her die, alone in the dark amongst strangers.

And he did that. He did that to her.

The breath rattles noisily in her chest, black spilling from the corners of her mouth, and Alistair nearly chokes on his own fear.

He presses a trembling fist to his lips and prays harder.

***

It is a terrible night.

Death is a part of a Warden’s life. It is not a thing to be feared or avoided. It is what they do. The Maker grants the Wardens a singular sort of immortality — they survive the taint so they may kill darkspawn.

(In war, victory.)

That is all the Order is, at its core. Death. Death. And more death. And one day it will come for all of them, with a sweet song of madness in their ear. And the Maker will grant them peace.

(In peace, vigilance.)

Death is nothing to a Warden if not a familiar.

Alistair himself has survived a blight, an archdemon, and the needless slaughter of half of all living Wardens.

(In death, sacrifice.)

Witnessing this tiny battle waged in the bleakness of the Deep Roads, should be a small thing. Insignificant at scale. No armies are at stake. No kingdoms hang in the balance. Her death will be of no true consequence. And yet…

It doesn’t feel small at all.

It feels… heavy. There is no other word for it. A weight pressing down on his chest so every breath he takes is short, and sharp, and strained. A twisting in his gut, an uneasiness that sits awaiting the strike of a blade. And a terrible helplessness that hangs across his senses like a veil.

After the joining, once it was clear she wouldn’t instantly expire from the draught, the remaining Wardens had moved as swiftly as they could, hoping time and distance would mask Bethany’s scent from the darkspawn.

Alistair had carried her. Slung across his back like a rucksack. Still, and feverish, and unsettlingly light. Sometimes he couldn’t hear her breathing over the sound of his own heartbeat. So he’d run his thumb over the pulse points of her wrists, searching. Searching. Able to breathe again when he found her heartbeat — light and erratic, but there.

It’s still there.

The Wardens make camp for the night. Cold food and no fire. They can’t risk it until they’ve put more distance between themselves and the horde. The darkspawn are nearly out of range now, but not quite. He can still feel them lurking faintly at the edges of his consciousness. He would have preferred if they’d pressed on for a few more miles, but Mera had ordered him to rest — foolish to wear himself out entirely.

And he knows she’s right. If it came to it now, he’d be slow and sloppy in a fight. Maybe get Bethany killed. Maybe get them all killed.

Maker, he hadn’t even thought about the risk to the others.

He crouches beside Bethany, trembling with nerves, guilt, and exhaustion, until Mera lays a gentle hand on the his head, fingers digging into his scalp, urging him to rest.

They’ve no spare bedding — no spare anything, really — so Alistair rolls Bethany up in his own blankets, with his surcoat pillowed beneath her head, and lies on the bare rock beside her. It isn’t the first time he’s slept on naked stone and it won’t be the last, though this time he gets little in the way of sleep. He can’t. He’s too wound up.

Bethany… She is—

Not dying. Not dying.

—fragile as spun silk.

Her pulse is as faint as a butterfly's wings, and seems to stutter to a halt with a terrifying regularity. Alistair barely removes his hand from her wrist now. Counting the seconds between each heartbeat and the next. There’s so much time between them. So much empty space for him to fall face-first into cold terror. And then he finds the little bump of her pulse again, irregular and light, and his head blooms with an irrational sense of relief.

Twice he thinks she slips away, and quiet agony coils around his heart until she takes a noisy sort of breath that sounds like she may be drowning, and the faint bump bump of her pulse starts again.

He pulls the blankets down to her waist, afraid that their meager pressure will be too much strain for her to overcome. Then he frets that she’s too cold, and pulls them up again. But mostly he just tries to will her heartbeat into alignment with his, and struggles to stay afloat of his own growing despair.

***

In the morning there is no dawn to greet them. No gentle sunrise to reward her fight. The camp simply begins to stir, coming alive with the soft, familiar sounds of Warden’s waking.

Alistair is a wreck. He’d sweated straight through his tunic from anxiety, and can probably count on one hand the minutes he'd actually managed to fall asleep. His back aches and he’s got pins and needles all down his arse and the backs of his legs. And the muscles of his jaw are stiff and sore from grinding his teeth all night. Still. He cracks the biggest smile at every Warden who comes to check on them.

Because she is still alive.

***

“She’s not dying,” Alistair says firmly, but can’t help but wring his hands as he says it.

“Aye,” Warden Runsk sighs heavily and pats Alistair’s back mechanically. “You’ve said it a hundred times. Not sure you have anymore say in the matter now, as before. She’s had two days like this. She’ll not last a third.”

She can’t take any real food –– the risk of choking is too high –– but they stop every hour, like now, and Alistair drips a water-thin gruel into her mouth, a tiny bit at a time, stroking her throat to encourage her to swallow. She’s visibly lost weight, the bones of her wrist are sharp and sparrow-light. But the blackness of the taint has slowed it’s advance through her veins, and the pulse beneath his thumb is stronger, he thinks, but still irregular.

He takes comfort from that when he can.

“I’ve heard of someone lasting five,” Alistair mutters stubbornly.

Runsk shakes his head, unconvinced. “The Order is nothing if not half make-believe.”

“But it’s working. She’s not dying.”

“Aye, I know.” Runsk pats him on the back again.

***

In the blink of an eye, your whole life can change.

Alistair has learned that lesson so many times over, you’d think he’d never forget.

Once, he’d thought all life had to offer him was a drafty stable and the smell of Mabari all around. Caring for the hounds as well as the horses, with dirt on his breeches and bits of straw in his hair. It had been hard work — lonely work — but that was life, wasn’t it? And at least the animals were never cruel to him. And he’d always slept with the runts and hand-fed them so they’d never be culled. He’d been… resigned. Happy enough, he’d supposed.

But then he’d gone to the Templars, and it was all different. No dirt, or straw, or horse manure. Just metal, and magic, and that awful silence of the Circle’s Chantry.

Then came the Wardens. And Ostagar. And the Landsmeet — he’d been so terrified then. So aware of everything that would shift should things go poorly.

He should be ready for such things, always. But somehow he never is.

Bethany makes a sound.

Not the horrifying death-rattle as she struggled to breathe, or the tiny, pain-filled moans she would occasionally utter. This is something soft and sleepy and wonderful.

A sound of wakening.

A sound of his whole world shifting.

Alistair scrambles over to her, heart pounding. “Hello?”

Brown eyes blink open, then promptly close again.

And Alistair feels the little bubble of relief fade abruptly. “You’re not dead,” he says in a rush of breath, jaw tightening in reflex.

That’s true at least. Whatever she is, she isn’t dead.

Her eyes flutter open again, focused, though very bloodshot, and Alistair feels his face split in an enormous grin. He tries to school his features into something reassuring and dignified, but he doesn’t quite manage.

Her eyes alight on him briefly before she turns her head, searching. “Garrett—?” Her hand stretches out, distressed. Flailing in the empty air. Searching.

“Oh,” Alistair blinks, surprised by the jealousy that twinges through him absurdly. It’s faint as an echo behind the relief, but there. So stupid. He swallows it back. “Was that the shouty one with the terrifying… and, ah… rather… ” He stumbles, searching for a word to describe Hawke that isn’t violent or bloodthirsty. Instead he gestures to his own chin. “Um… beard?”

The girl makes a pained noise that lances through him, and a credible attempt to sit up.

“Hey now, none of that,” Alistair presses her back down before she can hurt herself. “You’ve been out for three days. Stroud— that is, the Warden-Commander wasn’t… was sure you wouldn’t— Well. You’re not dead.” He says again firmly, squinting at her as though she might change her mind about it at any moment, though he knows that’s not how the joining works.

“Where is my brother?” The words come out like a shaky rasp, all jagged-edged with dread. She’s so weak she has to breathe after each one.

Oh.

Of course.

“He was your brother then?” Alistair hopes he doesn’t sound as relieved as he feels. He’s not sure if it’s easier to lose a brother than a lover — never having had much in the way of either — but he can’t say he isn’t glad that’s the way of it.

Not that he has any right to be glad that —

“Was?” The word is all heartbreak. All despair and grief. She wrenches herself upright, panic lending her a sudden burst of strength. She gets her legs under her, nearly tries to stand. And Alistair — the world's most monumentally thoughtless arse — only just gets his arms under her as she collapses, trembling, and all broken out in a cold sweat.

Shit.

He backtracks as fast as he possibly can. “No no no, hey. He’s not dead. Stroud took some men to escort them back to the surface.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, and sees her eyes follow the gesture, jittery with adrenaline. “Never should have been this deep. Surprised any of them made it out in one—” She flinches and Alistair wants to bite off his tongue.

Damn.

Maker, he’s doing none of this right.

He wipes sweating palms on the backside of his breeches.

“Well, hmm.” He takes a breath and forces his voice lower. Softer. Steadier. “You were lucky you brought a healer. Luckier still that the healer was a Warden— is a Warden,” he corrects with a frown. “You never really get to leave the Order, after all.”

“Lucky?” She repeats, voice small and lost. For a moment her eyes drift restlessly back and forth as if trying to understand.

The world changes so easily, after all.

Alistair understands. She didn’t choose this. She didn’t join the Wardens, she was taken by them. By him. And now everything she knew in life, everything, even her own being, is fundamentally, permanently altered.

It is worse than being carted off to the Templars; to join their ranks or become their charge.

Worse than being nearly made King.

He hopes it is less worse than dying.

“What do you remember?” Alistair asks as gently as he can.

She shakes her head in mute confusion. Tears spill down her cheeks. His fingers twitch, wanting to wipe them away, but he doesn’t move.

Always start with the easier questions.

“What’s your name,” he asks instead.

She blinks at him through the tears, sticking her hand out automatically, as Alistair tries not to be thoroughly charmed. “Bethany Hawke.”

Bethany.

It sounds prettier the way she says it, like the chime of a tiny bell, bright and clean, and he cannot help but grin.

“Alistair,” he takes her hand, and his thumb brushes across the top of her knuckles, a tiny show of affection he can’t quite stifle. “Welcome to the Ferelden Wardens.”

#Alistair Therin #bethany hawke #alistair x bethany #bethistair #dragon age #my fic #sunshine in the dark #part 2 #how alistair fell in love with bethany hawke

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crystalninjaphoenix · 4 months

Text

Taking Care of Business

A JSE Fanfic

SepticHeroes AU: Part 27

First Part | Previous Part

I'm starting to realize I tend to write longer chapters for this series XD I guess I just really can't help myself from going off with character interactions with these guys. In this chapter, Jackie goes back to SepTech to ask McLoughlin some more questions. Meanwhile, Marvin drops by Schneep's office, and Jameson gets to know this new guy he's met. Maybe they could be friends? Heheh :D

===============

Jackie landed outside the North SepTech location. He took a deep breath to prepare himself before heading in. Everything would be fine. Dr. McLoughlin said that he could stop by whenever he wanted without even needing to make an appointment. It would be fine. But as he walked through the doors, he still couldn’t help but be a little nervous. Was it just the natural anxiety of walking in somewhere like he owned the place? Or was it something more? Was he... suspicious of McLoughlin? Marvin had brought up some good points, after all.

No, no. He refused to judge the man before he even had a chance to talk to him. That would taint their entire encounter. For all he knew, McLoughlin just made a mistake when analyzing the Puppeteer’s mask. That’s all.

He got a visitor’s pass from the receptionist and then asked for directions again. He couldn’t remember the exact way to McLoughlin’s lab. She told him the way, and he managed to get to the lab pretty quickly. It was still a shock to see how different this futuristic basement was from the office building above. Everything white and metal. Jackie walked up to the double doors to the lab, and they slid open automatically. Cool.

The lab was just as crowded and messy as it was the first time he was here. Jackie’s eyes flicked over the robotic arms dangling from the ceiling, the monitors around the walls and standing in the middle of the floor, the wires and metal scraps and weird mechanical parts covering every inch of every surface. No sign of any people in here. “Hello?” he called. “Dr. McLoughlin? Are you in here?”

A moment passed. Then one of the monitors nearby turned on, its screen showing the words INTERCOM SYSTEM ACTIVATED. “Hey, Windstorm!” McLoughlin’s voice said excitedly. Coming from the speakers by the monitor. “I didn’t know you were stopping by!”

“Uh—y-yeah, last time I was here you said I could pop in whenever,” Jackie said.

“I did, didn’t I? Right. Sorry, my memory sucks sometimes—which I think I’ve also told you.” McLoughlin laughed. “I’m all the way at the very back. Come on over.”

“Sure.” Jackie hopped into the air, flying over the mess taking up the floor and towards the back of the lab. It’s a pretty big room. You could probably fit a handful of tennis courts in here end-to-end.

Most of the back wall was one massive monitor, but there were smaller monitors surrounding it. They were all turned off except for a couple right below the big screen. Jackie saw McLoughlin’s special SAM rise into the air and flew over there, dropping to the ground nearby. “Hey!” McLoughlin was working at some sort of console, sitting in a swivel chair that he spun around to face Jackie. “Good to see you! Welcome back to the lab.”

“Uh, nice to be back,” Jackie said, looking around. “What’re you working on now?”

“Theory and blueprints,” McLoughlin said, gesturing at the screen. “Trying to come up with new stuff. But I feel like I’ve hit a block, you know? It’s not really ‘artist’s block,’ but if you know what that is, it feels the same, I think. I’ve maybe got an idea for something to supercharge supers’ powers? But it might be dangerous so I’m not sure if I want to go through with it, lord knows the League would leap on it if they heard I was even thinking about that.”

“Uh... huh.” Jackie nodded slowly. “What do you mean? How would it work?”

“Well, it’d be most helpful for Type E, I think, supers who draw power from energy,” McLoughlin explained. “Basically it would give them a bigger dose of energy, but I dunno, there might be side effects from that. Might shock their systems. And I can’t exactly test that on myself like I did with the interface.”

“Right. I forget you have a fucking... chip in your head,” Jackie muttered.

McLoughlin laughed. “I’m a fucking cyborg, and I’m proud of it. Do you know how hard it was to work on an advanced prosthetic while you only have one arm and one eye?” He flexed the fingers on his right hand.

“Couldn’t you have gotten a less advanced prosthetic to help while you worked on the one you were making?”

“Well... yeah, I guess, but then I’d have to remove it—and that’s a whole can of worms. I figured it was easier to just wait until I was done.” McLoughlin shrugged. “Wasn’t so bad. I had the robots to help with a lot of it.”

“Speaking of, uh, your robots.” Jackie reached down, unhooking the Puppeteer mask from his belt. “Remember this?”

“Oh yeah, the mask!” McLoughlin nodded.

“Did you, uh, have your robots do the scan on this?” Jackie asked. “Or did you... How much... Were you heavily involved, or did you just leave it to the machines?”

McLoughlin chuckled. “I pretty much ‘left it to the machines,’ as you said. That’s a fun way of putting it, I’ll have to remember that.” His expression suddenly became serious. “Why? Is there something wrong with it?”

“Um... yeah.”

“Set it down there, then.” McLoughlin pointed at the nearest table. “Face-up. Tell me what this is about.”

Jackie set the mask down. The SAM flew down. Part of its metal casing slid open—specifically, the bottom part of the blue ring around its central camera—and a wave of blue light came out, scanning the mask slowly. “I took it to someone else about the mask—they, uh, asked to see it—and they said that it had been tampered with, that its LEDs were being controlled externally and so was the voice synthesizer. And they said there were cameras and microphones, and those were also being controlled externally.”

“Hmm.” McLoughlin frowned. “That’s a lot of modification. Huh.” He stood up and walked over to the mask, flipping it over as soon as his SAM was done scanning. Once it finished scanning the back side as well, McLoughlin took out that remote with the red button. “Importing scans from SAM-0 to the internal network. Display them on the nearest blank monitor.”

One of the screens turned on, displaying the scan the SAM made, a bunch of complicated white lines on a black background. Jackie didn’t understand it at all, but McLoughlin nodded thoughtfully. “Do you see them now?” Jackie asked.

“Yeah. That’s weird.” McLoughlin spoke into the remote again. “Compare these scans to the last scan of the Puppeteer mask.” A second set of scans showed up underneath the first, which shrunk in size so all four images could be displayed at once. Red circles popped up on the new SAM scans, highlighting the differences. “How did we miss this before?” McLoughlin muttered into the remote.

“It is likely that the differences are a result of modification done after the previous scan,” said a robotic voice from the computer speakers.

“No they’re not,” Jackie said. “How would that be possible? The mask was with me the whole time after you gave it to me.”

McLoughlin nodded. “Assume that the differences were there during the previous scan,” he said to the remote—clearly connected to the computer. “How could we have missed them?”

“It is possible that the damage inflicted to the mask caused errors during the initial scanning process,” the computer replied. “It is possible that the scanning equipment may need to be repaired or updated. It is possible that the scanning equipment or the recorded scans were modified by an outside party. It is possible that SAM-0 may have more advanced scanning equipment. It is possible that human error—”

“Thank you, you may stop listing possibilities,” McLoughlin interrupted. He glanced at Jackie. “You really have to stop it early, or it keeps iterating on problems and getting absurd.”

Jackie frowned. “It said... that the scans might’ve been modified by someone else?”

“Yeah, that was one of the possibilities.”

“That... might be likely.” Jackie hesitated for a moment. Should he tell McLoughlin about the new developments? Well, he’d already told the police. “Dr. McLoughlin... there’s someone else involved in the Puppeteer case.”

“Hmm? Oh, well, I guess that’d make sense,” McLoughlin said. “If there are cameras in the mask, and the lights and voice were being controlled externally, that just makes sense. Cause who would they be controlled by?”

“Exactly!” Jackie nodded. “This other person—this Anti-Virus, I’ve been calling them—”

“Anti-Virus?” McLoughlin raised an eyebrow.

“—they might be a technopath,” Jackie said. “I-I have evidence that they can see through cameras and send messages and emails and stuff.”

“That doesn’t mean they can get into SepTech’s system, though,” McLoughlin pointed out. “We have very high digital security.”

“Okay, but—but the Puppeteer was controlling people in SepTech, right?” Jackie said, his mind whirling. “If he got a hold on someone who worked with your system, like an IT guy, maybe, o-or even someone with a very high security clearance, he could’ve made them open up a path for Anti-Virus.”

“...oh.” McLoughlin went pale. “Well... shit.”

“Shit.” Jackie nodded in agreement.

“I-I can flush our system again,” McLoughlin said. “That should be able to drive out anything currently—but does it work the same for a technopath? Well, I guess if there are any viruses they planted or anything, it’ll get rid of that, at least. I’ll see if we can increase security, too, do a quick check on everything, make it harder for this Anti-Virus to get in.” He shook his head. “Can’t fucking believe it. The Puppeteer had a partner.”

“Um... no, actually,” Jackie said. “All signs point to the Puppeteer being blackmailed to do all this by Anti-Virus.”

“What?!” McLoughlin’s head snapped to Jackie.

“I know, it sounds crazy, but it’s true.”

“How the fuck do you know? You sound so sure.”

“I-I found proof,” Jackie said. He’d spent an hour yesterday making sure he’d copied the video tape JJ had left for them to find. But he only copied the part about JJ, electing to keep Dahlia’s involvement—Timekeeper’s part of the video—out of it. It might make a bit less sense, but he didn’t want to willingly tell the police a super’s secret identity. Not when Anti-Virus probably had her in their clutches. That felt like a violation.

“Must be some good proof, then,” McLoughlin muttered.

“Hopefully, combined with the mask, it’ll be enough to get—get Jameson Jackson out of the Vault,” Jackie said. “He doesn’t deserve to be in there.”

“I mean... the guy did mind control people,” McLoughlin said. “He’ll probably still be in jail, even if he was blackmailed.”

“But it’ll be a normal prison,” Jackie insisted.

“Hmm. True,” McLoughlin said slowly. “I’m just saying. The memories of people trying to get into my lab while I sealed up the one entrance will be in my nightmares.”

Jackie winced. “Um... sorry?”

“Why are you apologizing? You weren’t the one who did it.”

“Yeah, but... I-I don’t know, he’s not here to apologize, so I might as well.” Jackie laughed a little. And then his mind processed something. “Wait, one entrance? I saw a couple doors around the sides of the room, though.”

“Yeah, those only lead to storage rooms,” McLoughlin said. “All sorts of shit in there. I don’t even keep track of it all. I swear some of those doors I haven’t opened in years.” He shook his head. “Not the best organizer.”

“Oh I feel that,” Jackie chuckled. “Well. Anyway. Can you maybe print out those scans or something? So I can use them as evidence for the police?”

“Of course.” McLoughlin spoke to the computer again. “Print out all scans of the Puppeteer’s mask, including the ones with the highlighted differences.”

“Yes, Dr. McLoughlin.” A little tray popped out of the side of the console. There were several mechanical noises, and papers slid out of a slit in the console, landing in the tray.

Jackie walked over and picked them up. Yep, those were the scans. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll be taking these with me. Oh, and the mask, of course.” He made sure to pick it up.

“No problem,” McLoughlin said. “And, uh, Windstorm? I’m so sorry about the scan from before. That it wasn’t accurate, I mean.” He looked down at the ground, embarrassment on his face. “I-I swear my stuff is better than that, usually.”

Jackie’s heart softened. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “You probably got hacked, not your fault.”

“Still.” McLoughlin sighed, then looked up again. “If there’s anything you need, let me know. Though, uh, the system flush will probably cripple my ability to do much for a while.”

“No I get it, that’s fine, really.” Jackie smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Thanks for stopping by,” McLoughlin said. “Again, feel free anytime.”

“Will do.” Jackie gave him a little salute, then jumped into the air. “Goodbye.”

“Bye!” McLoughlin waved him off.

Now all Jackie needed to do was fly home and get that tape copy he made. He could deliver it and the mask with its scans to the police station today. They could look into it and start the process of getting JJ a proper trial. The sooner they started, the sooner they could finish, and the sooner JJ would be out of the Vault.

This would be enough. It had to be.

===============

Schneep was just getting ready to leave work when he heard a knock at his office door. He quickly clocked out on the computer—he could always clock in again if this turned out to be an emergency and not more paperwork—and called out, “Yes, come in.”

An unexpected face walked through the door. “So, this is your office, then?” Marvin said, looking around. “Not exactly what I expected. Then again, not sure what I was expecting.”

“Marvin?” Schneep blinked. “What are you doing here? Wait, I never told you where I work!”

“Sorry about that,” Marvin said, closing the door behind him. “I realized I didn’t have any way of contacting you. But I did remember JJ telling me where you worked once, so I figured I’d stop by.”

Schneep sighed. “Well, I suppose it does not matter that much.” He started shutting down the computer. “So I repeat my question. What are you doing here?”

Marvin glanced around the room. “Are there any... cameras in your office?”

“Security cameras? No, there are none in the offices at all. Only the places where actual important things are stored.”

“Do you have like... patient information in here or something? Wouldn’t that be important?”

Schneep stood up and walked over to the filing cabinet, tugging on the drawer. It didn’t open. “Locked. I suppose that is good enough for the hospital.”

“And... what about the computer?” Marvin jerked his head towards the desktop monitor.

“No cameras on work computers,” Schneep said. “No microphones, either. If you need either of those, you need to borrow an external one from IT and plug it in. Besides, even if that was the case, I just shut the computer down.”

“In that case, shut your phone down, too,” Marvin insisted.

Schneep rolled his eyes, but he took out his phone and did so, showing the shutdown process to Marvin. “There. Is this about Anti-Virus? You are worried about them listening in?”

Marvin nodded. “Just in case.” He paused, then narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going to call me paranoid now, are you?”

“No, not paranoid. Perhaps a bit over-cautious, but I don’t think you’ve crossed into paranoia. Paranoia would mean you are unjustified. And after hearing the truth about Anti-Virus from that video... I’d say you are very, very justified indeed.” Schneep shuddered a little.

Marvin relaxed a little. “That’s what I think, too. About... Anti-Virus. God, we’re all really sticking with that, aren’t we?”

“It is what they called themself in that text message, that is the closest we’ll get to this villain naming themself,” Schneep said. And he always thought heroes—and even villains—should name themselves. Otherwise the public would do it, and they would come up with something generic like ‘the Specter.’ Schneep’s name had grown on him over time, but he remembered being very annoyed about it at first, thinking anything he could come up with would be better.

“Right. I guess.” Marvin sighs. “I bet Windstorm’s told the police about them, using that name. It’s gonna stick now.”

“Okay, we have talked quite a lot, and you still haven’t answered my question,” Schneep said. “What are you doing here?”

Marvin gave the room another look-around. Then he walked up to Schneep, lowering his voice a little. “Have you ever infiltrated SepTech?”

Schneep nodded. “Yes, a couple times. That is how Jackie met the Specter, actually. In the East location.” He’d gone there because he heard they had chameleon cloth. If he was going to get back into the game, he wanted an updated suit, and one that blended into the environment seemed like a good fit for him.

“Oh.” Marvin blinked. “Right. Okay. Well.” He coughed awkwardly. “What if... what if I commissioned you to spy on them some more?”

“Commissioned me?” Schneep raised an eyebrow. “What, am I an artist?”

“Depends on if you think it’s an art to break into places.”

“A skill, more like it.” Schneep grinned. And one he very much enjoyed using. He’d be happy to infiltrate SepTech... but he wanted to know why Marvin wanted him to do this. “So... what is this about, then? Spying on them? Why?”

“Because of that Dr. McLoughlin guy,” Marvin said. “There’s something up with him. Something suspicious. I’m not sure what, but I can’t shake this feeling that he’s connected to Anti-Virus. He might even be Anti-Virus.”

“That is a serious accusation,” Schneep pointed out.

“I know. That’s why I haven’t brought it up to the police. Well, that, and my whole... villain persona,” Marvin admitted. “But Windstorm wouldn’t believe me when I told him that there’s a connection.”

“Really?”

“He admitted it was suspicious, but said it could be a coincidence and isn’t doing anything about it,” Marvin clarified. “I think he’s even taking the Puppeteer mask back to Dr. McLoughlin so he can look at it. The guy who probably deliberately hid details about it! Hell, he might even have given it to him today!” He shook his head, anger clouding his features. “I don’t blame him for being so trusting—but I think it’s a mistake.”

“So... you think I could spy on Dr. McLoughlin for you, then?” Schneep asked.

“I’d help, of course. But I think you’d be best for actually going into the SepTech locations.”

“That is true.” Schneep nodded. “With the word ‘commission’ thrown in, I wonder, will you pay me for this? Or is this a favor for friends?”

“I mean, I can pay you if you want,” Marvin considered. “Not that much, but I have some spare cash. But... I thought you would want to do this. For yourself. And... for your family. After all, if McLoughlin is connected to Anti-Virus, he might have information on where Dahlia is. He might even be the man who took her, the man who made JJ do all that Puppeteer shit.”

Schneep clenched his fists. “You are appealing to my revenge?”

“...No,” Marvin said quietly. “I’m appealing to your love for them.”

“Well... that is the right thing to do.” Schneep turned away, looking out the office window at the cityscape. “If there is a chance that this McLoughlin man is connected—the slightest chance—I will take it. I-I cannot leave them behind.” Especially after he couldn’t convince JJ to run. He could have gotten him out of there before he got sent to the Vault. He knew he could have. But JJ didn’t want that. Schneep now understood that it was because of Dahlia. He wasn’t sure of the details, but he was sure that JJ thought fleeing the police would just put her in danger. Well... if this McLoughlin guy turned out to be connected to Anti-Virus, Schneep had a lead on how to get Dahlia out of danger. And JJ too, by extension. Those two were the only real family he had left. He had to do whatever he could to help them.

Marvin nodded. “Yeah. I-I know.” His voice broke a little, so he cleared his throat and moved on. “I don’t know how your, uh, infiltrations work. So I’ll leave that up to you. Just keep me updated.”

“How? I don’t know any way to contact you,” Schneep pointed out.

“Stop by my work,” Marvin said. “Here, if you have a pen and paper I can write it down, and my hours.”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Schneep turned back to the desk and pulled out a scrap piece of paper and a pen. “I will write down my office hours as well.”

“What do you do most of the day here?” Marvin asked. “SDER is a pretty specialized department. You can’t possibly have that much to do.”

Schneep laughed. “Well, since there haven’t been many super fights lately, you are right. Windstorm is very careful, which I will always be happy for. When SDER personnel are not taking care of super-related injuries, we have secondary positions. I am also a neurologist, and I specialize in patients with injuries that affect the brain and nervous system. That is why Chase was assigned to be my patient—his injuries fell into both my areas. Ah, here.” He handed Marvin the paper and pen.

Marvin took it, wrote down his work address and shift hours, then tore the paper in half and took the half with Schneep’s details. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to talk over the details some more, or should I just show up at your work once I have completed my first heist?” Schneep asked.

“Well, it’s not really a heist, I’m not asking you to take anything,” Marvin said.

“Are you suuuuure?” Schneep prompted.

Marvin laughed. “I’m sure. For the first couple times, at least. If we find out there’s anything worth taking, we can talk about it more.”

“Heh.” Schneep grinned. “Well, I look forward to working with you, then.”

Marvin grinned back. “The same to you.”

===============

JJ woke up with a pounding headache. He might have brushed it off before, but not today. Not after he heard about the neutrinalin and its side effects. Was this the first sign that the constant doses were catching up to him?

Well, he couldn’t just lie in bed all day. If he missed role call, the prison guards would come over to his cell and drag him out anyway. He was pretty sure they would do that no matter what. Given the listless state of most of the other prisoners, he was pretty sure that the only thing that would prevent him from having to adhere to the schedule... would be if he literally could not walk at all. So he got up and staggered out of his cell once role call was announced.

The cafeteria of Byrthon Vault wasn’t anything to write home about. It was completely bland, with stainless steel tables and benches and blank off-white walls. JJ got his food as he had every day before, and was about to sit down—when he spotted a shock of red hair through the crowd and immediately diverted course.

Soren saw him coming. He gave him a little wave as he sat down across from him. “Looks like you almost missed me,” he said. “Did you forget about me already?” He winked playfully.

JJ smiled a little. I woke up with a headache, it must be clouding my thoughts.

“Hmm. It does do that, doesn’t it?” Soren tapped the edge of his tray with his spoon. Looked like he’d already finished eating before JJ even arrived. Which made sense, the lower floors got to the cafeteria first at meal times.

JJ looked down at his own food. It’s going to get worse, isn’t it?

“Slowly, but yes.” Soren shakes his head. “Maybe it’ll be especially slow for you. I’ve noticed that the more powerful you are, the longer it takes for the shitty side effects to take hold. And rumors say you’re pretty powerful.”

I suppose so, he said. It must run in the family. She was—is very powerful. And Schneep seemed able to hold his own, too.

“You’ll be fine,” Soren said quietly. “I can tell.”

How? You don’t know me that well.

“Intuition, I guess? I’m used to listening to my gut feelings. They can save you more often than you think.” Soren shrugged. “So. How have things been in Daindover while I’ve been gone? Did things fall to chaos?”

JJ shrugged back. I remember hearing about a crime spree after Pathos—you—were arrested. But it calmed down. Windstorm took care of it.

“Really?” Soren tilted his head, intrigued.

I don’t know the details off the top of my head, though, JJ said. Sorry.

“No, it’s fine. Can’t expect you to remember everything.”

I know things were calm for a long time after that, JJ said. Relatively, I mean. Seems like things are never fully calm. He paused. Then I came along.

Soren’s eyes flicked up and down, examining JJ. “I’ve been thinking about this. And you don’t like what you did, do you? The guilt on your face is clear as a bell.”

A bell? JJ asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re dodging the subject. But that’s fine. It’s clearly very personal, no need to tell a guy you met yesterday about it.” Soren chuckled.

JJ glanced around the cafeteria. If this conversation happened when he first arrived at the Vault, he would’ve been worried about sharing. Scared that if rumor got out that he wasn’t a big tough villain, people would attack him. But clearly, most of the prisoners didn’t have the energy for that. So, really, why not? I didn’t like it at all, he admitted. If I had a choice in the matter, it never would have happened.

“Someone forced your hand,” Soren muttered. “Blackmail? Threats?”

JJ blinked. How did you figure that out?

“Comes with my line of work. I know a lot about... persuasion.”

Right. Soren was Pathos, and Pathos had been head of the biggest organized crime family this side of the country. JJ almost forgot about that. He narrowed his eyes slightly, looking Soren over. Did YOU enjoy what you did? he asked.

Soren blinked, as if no one ever asked him that before. He leaned back, looking thoughtful. “Some of it was exciting,” he said slowly. “But most of it was simply... business. I did what I had to do.”

JJ wanted to protest that you never had to become a villain... but that seemed a bit hypocritical. So instead, he simply asked, Why?

“Why did I have to? Oh, a lot of reasons.” The spoon tapped against the edge of the tray again. “Mostly to prevent something like that chaotic crime spree you mentioned. The one that happened after I was arrested. But it’s not fully that. After all, sounds like the city recovered soon enough.” Soren paused. “What about you? Do you want to talk about why you had to do what you did?”

JJ slowly shook his head. Not now.

“Right.” Soren grinned a little. “I get it.”

The rest of the breakfast passed in mostly quiet, with JJ occasionally asking questions about the Vault or its prisoners that Soren answered. Then breakfast was over, and JJ went back to his cell to lie down for a while. Maybe he could nap off the headache.

...Nope. It was still there when lunch rolled around. It wasn’t a strong pain, he’d certainly had worse, but it still dragged on him. Still, he didn’t want to miss lunch. So he got up and headed to the cafeteria.

Just like at breakfast, he spotted Soren easily and sat down across from him. Soren looked up as he did so. “Again?”

If you want me to leave, I will, JJ said. But you’re the one who asked if I wanted to sit with you, Soren. And you’re the only person who’s done that.

Soren laughed. “You got me there. Wow, it really does feel biting when you go to the trouble of spelling out my name. I get we’re not close enough for you to give me a special sign, but still. Feels like you’re dragging out the tone.”

JJ decided to take that as a compliment. Soren certainly intended it that way. Do you talk to a lot of people in here? he asked. There was that Angela woman. Anyone else?

“I’m sure you noticed that there isn’t too much talking in here in the first place.” Soren jerked his head to the side, indicating the cafeteria at large.

JJ nodded slowly. It was the silence that had bothered him. The first thing that led him to notice all the other odd things about his fellow prisoners.

“But I know what you mean. There do tend to be... groups.” Soren chose that word carefully. “Like in movies about high school, you get different cliques.”

What the— JJ couldn’t help but giggle a little. It seemed like such a childish comparison, and it certainly wasn’t something he expected Soren to say.

Soren raised an eyebrow. “Hey, that’s the best word for it, it really is. You’ll notice that someone will sit with the same small group of people over and over again. They don’t really open up to newcomers sitting with them. Which makes sense. In this place, everyone is dangerous. If you have a group you can trust, that’s probably enough. Why waste your limited energy on a stranger? Usually, people from the same sort of... geographical area tend to stick together.” He smiled. “Like how I asked you about Daindover.”

JJ nodded slowly. He understood that. And though he wanted to say something about how trust is good and people should open up more... again, it felt a bit hypocritical. He didn’t tell anyone about what happened to her. He didn’t tell anyone about the messages through the phone.

The rest of lunch was the same as breakfast, and then JJ again went back to his cell. The headache was still there. Still annoyingly persistent, sapping his will to do much of anything. It was even making it hard to sleep. Would it keep him up tonight?

Evening role call, and then dinner again. He found Soren for the third time and sat down. I was thinking about what you said at lunch, he said, starting the conversation this time.

“Oh? What?” Soren asked. “I said a lot.”

About me spelling out your name. If we’re going to talk a lot, and I think we are, it would be convenient to give you a name sign, even if we haven’t known each other for that long. This was very, very, very unusual. Names weren’t really a thing in BSL, using a specific sign for a person was usually reserved for friends and family. But... honestly, JJ didn’t care about that right now. His friends and family weren’t here, and they would never find their way in here.

“...Really?” Soren raised an eyebrow. “Moving a bit fast, aren’t we?”

You’re the only person who’s been friendly to me, JJ said. I know it’s fast, but... He sighs. I think I better prepare to be in here for a while. Even if he hoped he wouldn’t be, it was better to act like he would. Just in case.

Soren stared at him for a moment. Then nodded slowly. “Alright. Can I choose my own?”

JJ raised an eyebrow. Do you have something in mind?

“Yeah. If I ever talk to someone in BSL and they need to refer to me, I’ve always asked to be called the same thing.” Soren made two signs: the letter S, and heart. “Or, if we’re being professional.” A similar set: heart, and the letter P.

S-heart, JJ repeated. Any meaning behind it?

“Well you know my powers. I manipulate emotions. Some say I manipulate hearts.” Soren flashed a smile. “You know, as opposed to thoughts and the mind. That’s why I adopted a heart motif whenever I dressed as Pathos.”

Makes sense, I suppose, JJ said. You know, people don’t normally ask to choose their own.

“Really? Most of the people I talk to who know BSL ask me to choose my own. Maybe I’m just special. Or maybe your experience is that different. Have you seriously never had that happen?”

JJ hesitated. Well... actually, my sister did. Just signing the word ‘sister’ tore open a wound in his chest. Did he really want to talk about this?

“Sister?” Soren looked intrigued. He leaned forward a bit... then back again. “You look... a bit pained, Jameson. Sore topic?”

A bit, JJ said.

Soren was quiet for a moment. “I... understand,” he said softly. “We don’t have to talk about her if you don’t want to.”

JJ shook his head. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I love her. But... she’s... She’s alive, but... He trailed off.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Soren repeated, in an even quieter voice.

JJ took a deep breath. An explanation for the name thing, at least. Growing up, after I lost my voice, she was always D-twin. But then we got older, and she became more confident in who she was, and she asked if she could be flower-time instead.

“Flower time?” Soren asked, failing to hide the amusement in his voice.

I know. JJ chuckled a little. I always picture an alarm going off, signaling flower petals to rain down from the ceiling.

Soren laughed too. “That’s such a vivid fucking image.”

I don’t usually have a very visual mind, either, which makes it even more vivid. That’s pretty much the only image I’m able to mentally picture. His smile faded slowly. Maybe because it always reminds me of her.

Soren stared at him, purple eyes like two deep wells of water. “It’s good that you two are so close,” he said quietly. “I have a sister too, y’know. Elena. She’s about fifteen years older than me, so we never really knew each other as siblings, if that makes sense.” He chuckled. “When I was ten she pretty much left the family so she could marry someone. So I didn’t see much of her.”

JJ blinked. I didn’t know that.

“Well, Elena was never much into the family business, so the news didn’t report on her to the public that much. Makes it all the stranger that the guy she married is an arms dealer, but the heart wants what it wants, yeah?” Soren shrugged. “Anyway. I always liked Elena, even if we weren’t too close. Liked her daughter, too. Wanted to be sure she was taken care of.” He stared at JJ for a moment. It seemed like he was... waiting for something? JJ stared back, confused. “Huh. Okay, either you’re more respectful than you are curious, or you never heard the rumors.”

Oh. You mean the ones about your brothers? JJ asked.

“So it’s the first option, then.”

You were expecting me to ask about that?

“Seemed like it.” Soren leaned onto the table, propping his head in his hand. “I mean... if you hear a guy who’s rumored to have killed his father and brothers talk about how much he liked his family... most people would want to ask. Even if they were too afraid to.”

JJ shook his head. I know those rumors aren’t true.

Soren blinked. “You do, now? You seem very sure.”

He was sure because she found out the truth one day—and she told him when she came home from that fight. Well, why don’t you tell me about it, then? JJ said. If you were expecting me to ask.

Soren laughed. “That’s fair, that’s fair.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Enzo and Nicolas were older than me, they should have gotten control of the family before me. But, after I developed my abilities, our father started seeing the... potential of them. They got jealous. And, in an effort to prove himself, Enzo got killed by that Razor Queen villain.” He laughed. “Who would’ve guessed a woman with knives on her hands would be deadly. Nicolas was a bit more cautious, but he still got angry and reckless. Died in an ordinary shootout... but not before he managed to poison our father and make it look like I did it. The man he got the poison from confessed to me, but said he’d rather die than share his involvement with the public. So, I decided to leave well enough alone... and figured I might as well use that rumor. People wouldn’t be eager to fuck with someone who did that.”

JJ nodded slowly. That lined up with what she’d told him that night. She managed to get the poison information from the very man—Hemlock, a villain known for poisons. And then said that Pathos told her the rest.

“Or... I could be lying about all this,” Soren grinned. “Maybe I really am that ruthless.”

Well, if you are, I still don’t have many options for people to talk to, JJ commented. So I’ll probably keep showing up for meals with you.

Soren laughed. It got overtaken by a cough halfway through, so he stopped. “God. Jameson. You’re really something.”

JJ blinked. Well... thank you? Oh. Oh no. Why was his stomach fluttering? This was not a good person for that to happen with, son of a bitch—

“But still, I have to ask,” Soren continued. “You didn’t seem surprised at all during that story.”

JJ froze. His mind whirled, considering what to do. Oh shit he was probably waiting too long wasn’t he? He had to say something. So he leaned forward. What if I told you... that my sister knew you?

Soren raised an eyebrow. “I know a lot of people. That wouldn’t narrow it down. If you’re comfortable with it... can you tell me her name? Spell it out, I mean.”

JJ hesitated. Then, slowly... sign by sign... Dahlia.

Saying her name felt like a knife being driven into his heart.

“Dahlia? Like the flower?” Soren asked.

JJ nodded. His vision was getting a bit blurry so he hurriedly blinked it clear again.

“That’s a nice name,” he said quietly. “I’m guessing she chose it, like how she chose her name sign? Good choice. The flower is often said to symbolize inner strength and elegance.”

Didn’t expect you to know that, JJ said.

A memory flashed through his mind. “Yeah, that way I get to keep my initials for the towels Mum monogrammed for us when we were kids. I want to keep that, you know? And more importantly, it’s a name with a strong meaning. But graceful, too. I think it really fits me. Or... I dunno, what do you think?”

He agreed, of course. It really did fit her.

“I know a lot of random trivia,” Soren said. He paused. “Are you... okay?”

Fine, Jameson signed shortly. He blinked some more.

“Do you want to keep talking?” Soren asked in a surprisingly gentle voice. “Or... should we stop?”

I’ll be fine in a minute, he said. Just give me a minute.

Soren nodded.

The rest of dinner passed quietly, and then they had to go back to their cells. But not before Jameson gave Soren a quick Thank you. It felt like a weight was lifted off his chest after that conversation. Maybe he needed that moment. Maybe he needed to remember her name.

===============

“Alright, I got everything,” Jackie muttered. “Tape, check. Mask and mask specs, check.” He put each item into his backpack as he listed it. A carefully discrete backpack. He was going to the police station as Windstorm, and he couldn’t have anything with him that would link Windstorm to Jackie Skye.

He was just about to leave his room when his phone vibrated. It was sitting on his dresser—he’d also planned to leave that behind—so he leaned over and picked it up.

A text message was on the screen, from a number labeled Unknown. You know who it is. Pick up the call.

Jackie’s blood ran cold. Was it—but how did they know—

His phone immediately started ringing, the same unknown number calling. After a moment of hesitation, he answered. “Hello?”

“Windstorm.” The word was spoken in a familiar inhuman voice. The robotic tones that he’d last heard coming from the Puppeteer. Or, more accurately, from the Puppeteer’s mask.

Jackie knew he had to deny this. “I-I think you have the wrong—”

“Don’t lie to me, Jackie Skye,” Anti-Virus interrupted. “I know the truth. That day, when you announced it to your roommate, my puppet was outside the door, and I was on a call with him. Listening. Making sure that everything went as I wanted. It didn’t, but it worked out eventually, and I learned something so, so interesting about you.”

Jackie felt his heart stop. He opened his mouth to say something more, but nothing came out.

“Not to mention that you are currently wearing your supersuit in full view of your phone camera.”

Jackie yelped, yanking the phone away from his head. His head darted around his room until his eyes landed on a stack of sticky notes. Quickly, he peeled one off and stuck it over the phone camera. It was at an awkward angle so it didn’t cover the speaker, but it worked. Reluctantly, he pressed the phone to his ear again. “What do you want? Are you going to threaten me? Big talk from someone still using a voice synthesizer. Afraid to reveal who you are?”

“Not afraid, but my identity is one of my greatest secrets, and I will take care to protect it,” Anti-Virus said. “As for what I want... I want you to stop this. Stop trying to free Jameson Jackson.”

Jackie’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh? So you’re threatened by him?”

“Not at all. But if I understand correctly, you are trying to free him through proving I was there. And I cannot have that. You cannot look further into me.”

“I think I can, actually. And I will. Bitch.” Jackie growled. “You forced someone to turn a hundred people into puppets. Clearly, I can��t have you walking around.”

Anti-Virus laughed. Jackie held back a shiver; there was something menacing in its robotic tone. “It does not matter what you can and can’t have, Windstorm. You will not look further into me.”

“Or what?” Jackie asked. “I know what your powers are. You can spy on people, big whoop. You can’t do much else.”

“Oh? Are you sure?” Anti-Virus said. “Very well, then. I will show you what I’m capable of.” And abruptly, the call ended.

Jackie stared down at the phone. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he just made a terrible mistake.

But he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t let this villain intimidate him into leaving his friend in jail. Taking a deep breath, he put the phone down and secured his backpack with the evidence inside. Then he opened the window to his room and leapt out into the evening air.

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